Friday, June 23, 2006

FOR THE RECORD
Some readers have wondered if I read all the posts or any of them. I read some of them. My personal filter process is if the post starts with something like "F*ck you putos," I don't bother reading it. It's pointless. There's nothing to learn there. Also, I don't respond to questions in the comments section. If I respond to anything, I'll do it right here. So if anyone logs in as Wally or any variation of that in the comments section, trust me, it's not me. The other thing I never do is post "anonymous" comments in the comments section to either goose the conversation or slam somebody. As longtime readers have figured out, I don't slam people or get into net beefs. One last thing. I have no clue who the commenters are and I have no way of getting in touch with them. I periodically get requests from people wanting to get in touch with this or that commenter. Can't help you. I have no way of tracking and I wouldn't even if I could. If you want to get in touch with somebody, work it out in the comments section. I'm not in that loop.

On another topic, the recent incidents in Venice and SB have gotten the attention of some senior members. Nobody's seen a lista yet but there's an awful lot of "chatter" in County. Could be BS or the real thing. Let's hope it doesn't turn into a long hot summer.

83 comments:

Anonymous said...

So howzabout wallace? Lookin good, bra..A little navigation thru the Blogosphere sure ca'nt hurt..And what's all that got to do with the smog in the good ol LA basin?? GJ

walter mercado and juan gabriel said...

walter mercado and juan gabriel said...
To
MIDLESS TONTO (first Learn how to spell baboso)

This moron does not know the difference between an action and the spoken word.

He/She can hardly complete a sentence. Why does anyone give a crap what this dimwit says?

Sorry, He/she is just an idiot.
We will sandwich you tamal face like an oreo and then kick your flabby ass out the door with your valise and toothbrush back to your moma's house.

Anonymous said...

MIDLESS TONTO (first Learn how to spell baboso)

WHAT THE HELL IS A MIDLESS TONTO.
K-MART SELL DICTIONARY'S AT 99 CENTS MAYBE YOU SHOULD GO PICK ONE UP YOURSELF

walter mercado and juan gabriel said...

^Son of baboso, I was answering this post metiche - as he incorrectly wrote MIDLESS!!


Anonymous said...
THATS NOT IT PENDEJO, I JUST DON'T LIKE VATOS TRYING TO BRAINWASH ME SUCH THAT I END UP A MIDLESS TONTO LIKE YOU

2:52 PM Saturday, June 17, 2006 WASSUP thread - Post # 144.!!

So while YOU are at K-MART pick up some lentes, entiendes Mendez? oh te exlpico Federico?... and save your breath replying, you'll need it to blow up your date tonite Carmela! Now go brush your teeth and the next time you think you are going to be so clever with someone remember the proverb:
It is better to remain silent and and have people think your dumb, than to open YOUR mouth and confirm it. SISSY MAN.

Maravilloso said...

That s punk has remained strangely quite. Maybe she's at summer camp snoopy getting down with a gabacho guy counselor earning his knee pads (a la Monica) que no?

JIM said...

All in a nights work - El Monte P.D.

Kurt Timken grew up in northern Ohio with a life of privilege. His father was the CEO of The Timken Company, a Fortune 150 multinational corporation known for steel and ball bearings. The company had been founded by Kurt’s great-great-grandfather 100 years ago. Kurt followed in his father’s footsteps to the Phillips Andover Academy, and later to Harvard Business School. He was being groomed to fill his Dad’s shoes at the company, just as his father filled his grandfather’s shoes, and so on. He trained four years at the family company, and then another three years in management at Rockwell. But the long hours destroyed his marriage to his college sweetheart, and when he got divorced he started asking the big questions about why he’s here and where he could make a real impact.

At 30 years old, he spit the silver spoon out of his mouth, listened to an inner voice, and after a major test of his conviction, he’s now a police officer working the graveyard shift in El Monte, California, which is a few highway exits east of East Los Angeles, one of the highest crime cities in the state. He works the graveyard shift because that’s when the hot 911 calls come in, and the drugs are moved, and the transvestite prostitutes work the streets. It’s when the beer hits the bloodstream, and under the influence of alcohol or coke or meth or greed, people do terrible things to each other. The graveyard shift is when he can make an impact.

His shift begins at 6:00 p.m. with a briefing from the sargeant, and runs twelve hours and fifteen minutes. Most of that time, he is alone in his patrol car, hunting for “bad guys.” He had me sign a waiver, and issued me a flashlight and Level 3 body armor, similar to the one he wore underneath his uniform. Handgun rounds will not pierce the armor, but will still cause blow trauma. He explained where the different gang turfs were divided, and rattled off the addresses of seedy apartment complexes where crimes were commonplace. He taught me how to approach a car of gangbangers and use my spotlight to blind them. Then he rechambered his shotgun, which is kept locked to the grill above our headrests. He pointed to a button. “This is the switch that unlocks it, in case something happens to me out there, and you need a weapon.” It was around then that I stopped thinking what Kurt has done is really cool, and I started to wonder whether the risk was worth it. Did I really need to witness an El Monte night? Yes, if I was going to rid my TV-inspired, schoolboy fantasy preconceptions. Yes, if I was going to understand Kurt and tell his story.

While getting dressed in the locker room, Kurt said, “Everybody needs fuel for their engine. Making seven figures on Wall Street is cheap wood, it burns up too fast. I need something that burns well. That’s substantive. That’s real.” By the end of the night, I understood what he meant.



Kurt is five-ten, thick, tanned, freckled, with a solid jaw and brown hair swept over the side. When remembering his past, he speaks slowly with his eyes nearly closed, like he’s going back to that old place in his mind. He still has many friends from the world he left behind, and in a way, he returns to his past every day to get away from what he sees in El Monte. He lives in a spotless luxury condo on the oceanfront at Venice Beach. There’s a hot tub on his deck and a restored antique Brunswick pool table in his living room and upstairs, in the center of the master bedroom, a two-person steam shower. After a shift he’ll sit in there and forget, and wash the night away. He calls the condo his “countervailing force.” Kurt likes the dichotomy. There’s no shame about his background. He drives to El Monte in a Mercedes ML 320, license plate “NYSE TKR.”

Kurt’s great-great-grandfather built carriages. He had some ideas about how wheels and shafts turn, and the kind of stress that is put on ball bearings when there is a heavy top load and side load. This was going to be even more important in automobiles. He pencilled out designs for the first tapered roller bearings, which could handle those two loads better than standard bearings. It took awhile, and the auto industry was reluctant, but Timken bearings became the new standard, and are used to this day in every vehicle where wheels meet shafts.

When Kurt graduated from Pomona College, he spent four years at The Timken Company. They sent him to France and India, and he found it fun and interesting, but with his whole life ahead of him he didn’t hold it to that high of a standard. That changed after Harvard Business School. You come out of HBS thinking that you can change the world in an instant, and you’re hungry to find the place you can make that happen. The years start to add up, and pretty soon it’s natural to wonder, “Is this really the choice I want to make?” The family expected him to train at Rockwell, and come home when he was 30. But Rockwell had Kurt working 80 hour weeks, and so was his wife, at Disney corporate. They rarely got to see each other, and when the marriage fell apart, Kurt was bitter about what work had wrought. It seemed like you have to choose, do you want a marriage or a career? He would have preferred a relationship, but it was too late.

“I spent almost ten years in business. I was at great, innovative companies, with super management, not trapped in layers of bureaucracy. I received great evaluations, and frequent promotions, and was always challenged and given responsibility. And I was still not hopping out of bed in the morning, excited to get to work.”

Kurt had always been interested in law enforcement. He didn’t know anything about it. He’d never known a police officer. He’d never seen a trailer park, never hung out in a bad neighborhood. He felt it in his gut, not his brain. Business was about growing the bottom line; if it helps people, it does so indirectly. Kurt needed to serve people directly.

At Harvard, Kurt took marketing with a fairly famous professor named John Quelch. Quelch taught the Monkey Law. The monkey swinging through the jungle must never let go of an old vine until he has a firm grip on the new one. That’s how businesses operate, and that’s how people trained in business operate.

“I decided to violate the Monkey Law,” Kurt said. “And plunge into the jungle, without a plan. I went into Rockwell and gave them my pink slip and said thanks.”

His father tried to be neutral, but it was very hard for him to understand. He’d invested a lot in Kurt. They were of two generations; Kurt’s Dad never had a choice about whether to fill his own father’s shoes. Kurt tried to explain that in our generation, it’s important to look around a little. Kurt, though, couldn’t get hired in law enforcement. He went a whole year being rejected. It was the first time anyone had ever said no to him. It was a real shock. You come out of Harvard thinking the world works for you. In business, you can move laterally between industries, and most of your skills are transferable. But in law enforcement, as in medicine, you start over from scratch. The FBI turned him down, the LAPD turned him down, the LA County Sheriffs turned him down. They took one look at him and saw a bookworm. He didn’t need the job; would he be there as backup in a gunfight? Law enforcement is a nepotistic career; most officers got into it through a cousin, uncle, father. Kurt kept taking the different cities’ physical and mental tests, and polygraph tests, passing them all, and that’s when Kurt’s Dad came in with unexpected support. He was offended that nobody would hire his son. “Keep taking the tests,” he urged. “It’ll happen.”

Finally, Kurt paid his own way through the Rio Honda Police Academy. He graduated fourth in his class, and still – nobody would hire him.

“It was a test of my resolve,” Kurt said. “It was not going to be handed to me.”

Some guys that Kurt went to the Academy with were hired by El Monte. They bugged their Chief to hire Kurt. The Chief sent Kurt over to the Community Relations Anti-Gang Unit. This was the prevention arm of their task force, and it tried to get ex gang members jobs and teach them life skills. They told Kurt if he would volunteer for a whole year, he’d have a job on the force at the end.

A whole year?

“Yup.”

So you went two years without a job?

“Yup.”

Without even any real idea what was involved?

“I was learning. In all my interviews, I was learning. And at the Academy I learned. And at Community Relations I learned.”

Did he feel like he belonged in the community of cops?

“Not really. I live a different life than most of them.”

So why?

“I was hungry to do it. I thought the glove would fit. I’m a bulldog, real tenacious, and a quick thinker – I would be good at it and it would have real purpose.”

Still though. Two years. It’s amazing he didn’t give up.

Kurt reached for his wallet and pulled out a photocopy of a note. It was written by his great-grandfather to his great-great-grandfather, the inventor. The sons were having trouble getting the auto industry to adopt their father’s tapered bearings. The note read, “Dear Father, I hate to think we are putting troubles on your shoulders. We’ll hang in there like grim death. We’ve got grit if we don’t have sense.”

Kurt explained, “I carried this in my wallet, and whenever I despaired, I read it again. I knew it didn’t make sense that I wanted to be in law enforcement, but I had grit.”

In his year volunteering, Kurt revamped a defunct tattoo removal program, and it turned it into one of the most successful in the country. He put in 20 to 40 hours every week. He became a gang specialist, building an intelligence base about the five gangs in El Monte. At the year’s end, the El Monte Police Department kept their word. A job was waiting.



On his Sam Brown (his belt) he carries a Colt 45 pistol with seven rounds in the magazine and one in the pipe. He carries pepper spray, a flashlight, a tape recorder for statements, a key ring for his baton, two sets of handcuffs, a department-issued cell phone, and a small holder for five rounds for his backup pistol, a 38 Special jammed into his back pants pocket. In his pockets he carries gloves for a fight, a leather sap, and a second cell phone. All of this adds weight. The weight is not measured in pounds. The weight is measured in the somberness and seriousness of his profession.

Around the department and before the briefing, the office chatter was of the five new bonus positions that Chief would be hiring, and of the acting-Sargeant’s promotion that night to Sargeant, and of who would take the fourth K-9 if his partner became a detective. Kurt slipped into this chatter easily. He didn’t quote Hegel at these guys, didn’t throw out business school maxims. They all put Timken Bearings in their boats, but they don’t connect Timken Bearings with Kurt Timken.

No sooner did we leave the lot than Kurt had me running license plates through the on-board computer, hoping to find a GTA, grand theft auto. Every Honda and Toyota I saw, I ran their plate hoping for a hit. It was the lottery. The more plates I ran, the more likely I’d get a hit. We did this with zeal. If we spotted either make, Kurt would gun his cruiser and ride up the car’s ass until I could make out the plate. This would scare the shit out of the driver, which was the whole point.

“Sometimes they freak out and take off, and then you’ve got probable cause.”

There were a lot of Hondas and Toyotas. We were looking for bald heads, or ski caps pulled low to hide bald heads. It was night, so we flashed our spotlights on every face that passed. Every pedestrian on the sidewalk, every juvie hanging out on their front stairs, every bicyclist crossing the street – we blinded them with the spot. We watched their hands, to see if they threw anything away. More probable cause.

“You couldn’t do this in Beverly Hills,” Kurt said. “They’d be on the phone complaining to the city council a second later.”

We were on our way to investigate a report of a potential child abuse case. Reading the statement, which was taken from the 9-year-old boy’s teacher, it was very likely his big sister had simply kicked him in the groin before school. But we had to make sure, which would mean ruining some nice immigrant family’s night. This was a Level 3 Priority call, and not the most effective use of our time. Before the shift, I sat with the 911 dispatchers for an hour, watching the calls pile up. Level 1 calls were for imminent bodily harm, Level 2 for imminent harm to property, and Level 3 for sleepers. Kurt decided we needed to pick up the dispatcher’s dinner from Denny’s, so that they’d cut us some slack the rest of the night and leave us to hunt bad guys.

On the way, Kurt barked “known prostitute” and spun a u-turn on Garvey and pulled tight to the curb, where a transvestite was standing under the bus stop sign. We talked to him/her for awhile. I recognized her from the intelligence database Kurt had assembled in 3-inch binders he kept in his trunk. There were about 70 transvestites who worked El Monte. Most came in from Hollywood; only a dozen lived in the neighborhood.

“You working tonight?”

“I’m waiting for the bus.”

“Have I arrested you before?”

“No…. Wait. Maybe. At the donut shop that time.”

“Are you on any drugs?”

“No.”

We stepped out for a chitchat. Kurt held a pen light to her dull eyes to check her pupils, which were constricted, indicating heroin. But her pulse was racing, indicating meth. I found a tie-off strap in her purse, but no needles. Kurt talked to her long enough to conclude her small pupils were a chronic condition, from overuse, and the pulse was from codeine, the poor man’s methadone. He checked her for tattoos and showed me on the back of her hand, where the heroin crusted up under the skin like extra knuckles when a vein was missed. Many times he assured her he wasn’t taking her in, and tried to use this to pry a little information out of her for her profile in his database. She was friendly but didn’t trust him.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t work here tonight.”

“Okay,” she said.

Kurt works the prostitutes because nobody else on the force was doing it. It was how he was trained in business – find where you can add value and improve the situation. Make an impact. A few have become priceless informants for Kurt. Prostitutes are both perpetrators of crimes and common victims of crimes. Not only hooking; they’ll move drugs, steal wallets, and set up johns to be rolled by gangs. The johns drive in from all over Greater Los Angeles. Seventy percent of the prostitutes are transvestites, because that’s what’s popular, and because the transvestites seem to enjoy their work more than the women do. El Monte is one of the last places in Southern California that hookers still strut the streets. When he started on the force, Kurt wanted to crack down right away, but that’s not how it’s done, and he’s had to slow down, build the database, and wait until the Chief tells him it’s time.

“Law enforcement is 20 years behind the corporate world, in terms of its culture. Here they promote by seniority, not by contribution. We don’t have a customer, other than the city council. They don’t demand better performance. So the culture is, don’t stick out, don’t rub elbows, stick to what is. Work your beat and don’t come up with new ideas. A lot of officers in El Monte are good enough to wow our bosses, but they don’t.”

Kurt hasn’t let this mindset infect him. He is never just working his beat, never playing it safe, never hesitates to be the backup when another car is assigned a call. We never code 7 to eat. “My idea of law enforcement is not pulling cats out of trees,” he said. “That’s why I’m in El Monte.”

There’s a deadly cycle of violence here. Kids grow up watching their mothers and fathers drink and fight, and then they do the same. The El Monte Flores gang runs El Monte, except for when it cowtows to the MA, the Mexican Mafia. The Mexican Mafia is a prison gang. When inmates get parolled, they’re often sent to El Monte, and given housing vouchers which are good at a number of seedy motels on Garvey Street.

It’s here we go hunting.

With lights off, we gun into the parking lots of these motels, hoping to surprise someone. The attitude is always suspicion; we presume guilt and look for probable cause. Kurt pushes me to learn this.

“Why could I pull that car over?”

“Fog light out.”

“And that Infiniti?”

“No license plate.”

He flashes his spot into the car. Four young men. Another U-turn. We pull them over, blind them, approach. I shine the light on their hands. We do their wallets one by one. We run them for warrants. Kurt chitchats. He asks them flat out if they’re gangbangers.

“No, paisos, man,” the driver says. Just four guys getting off work at the plant. One admits he’s on parole.

We could ticket them for the license plate, but then they wouldn’t have a car to get to work. The tough call is when they don’t have a driver’s license, or their license is suspended. Kurt doesn’t want to take them in, but people who don’t have drivers licenses tend to flee the scene of an accident, and nothing pisses citizenry off more than being the victim of a hit-and-run.

We scare the life out of a drunk driver, but don’t take him in. We tell a pregnant woman at the bus stop not to work this corner tonight. We tell two juvies to get home, it’s after curfew. One of his transvestite informants tells him that the driver of Green Valley Taxi cab #765 is moving dope; the soda can he’s carrying has a false bottom with a lot of meth inside. We scope out every Green Valley taxi we see.

This work trains the mind. To be a good cop in El Monte, you need to be suspicious. You need to believe that every bicyclist is moving dope, every woman at the bus stop is a man selling blow jobs, every ski cap is hiding a bald head. Every tattoo is gang-related. Every hand you can’t see is holding a bag of dope or a weapon. Every Monte Carlo belongs to a gangbanger, every El Camino to a Title 8, every Lincoln Continental to an MA. Every windowless Toyota minivan is a possible getaway vehicle for an armed robbery. In every car parked behind a warehouse is someone sleeping, or someone getting their dick sucked. Every restaurant, unless otherwise known as friendly, will have someone working in the kitchen who will piss or spit in your food because you locked up her brother. The number 13 is for the 13th letter in the alphabet, M, or Mexico, i.e. the Mexican Mafia, the real bad guys. Apartment complexes breed criminals. A mouth whistle is a sign that we’ve been spotted. It probably sounds terrible, to live night after night in this frame of mind, but the alternative is worse. Catch them before they commit more crimes. Make it hard. Crack down on the little things. When all you’re doing is harassing guys coming home from their busboy jobs, it feels like a power trip gone bad. “But when I catch a bad guy, and take him off the street, it feels so incredibly rewarding. It’s what I live for.”

If the law of business is the Monkey Law, the law of the street is, Nobody Tells You the Truth.

“I couldn’t believe this at first,” Kurt explained. “Where I grew up, you always told the truth. In business, you always told the truth. I’d never been lied to before. Here, nobody ever tells the truth. Even to a police officer. Especially to a police officer.”

He tests me on this. When we question people, he continuously tosses the situation my way: “Do you believe her?”

I shake my head. “A second ago she said she got off babysitting. Now she says she’s waiting for her sister who’s in the laundromat.”

“Right. Because …”

“Because who would wait outside on a cold night like this?”

Again, another. “Do you believe her?”

“She pointed that way but now she’s walking the other way.”

Again, “Do you believe him?”

“That he was beat up by his roommate with a pipe?”

“That he was robbed.”

“No.”

“Why not? There was no money in his wallet.”

“He had a Big Gulp and two bags of chips he’d just bought.”

People are drunk. They lie terribly when drunk. Just by not being drunk, we’re sharper than them, faster, quicker.

“He won’t tell us where he lives.”

“Let’s follow his dog home.”

We use our brains. This was my big surprise. How much we had to use our minds to get the jump, to process the situation, to assess the risk, as it was happening, before bad things happened, to read the signs, to call for backup – and the stakes were shockingly high. You had to play it right. You had to be a move ahead. Before anyone gets suspicious of an informant, make a big show of taking her away in handcuffs. Before cruising into a apartment complex known for gang activity, send another out back to catch any runners as they jump the fence. Before going into a warehouse with the alarm blaring, call for the helicopter to patrol the roof, and call for the K-9s to sniff the burglars out.



This underworld exists. But why choose it? Not for the eight weeks+ vacation, though that sure makes it nice. Not for the 3-day workweek, though that’s sweet too. When I was up in the police helicopter, an off-duty officer was filling his tank at a gas station and witnessed an armed robbery of the station attendant. He pulled his gun, was shot in the leg, and still managed to take down both perpetrators and get them into custody. We were above the scene in a minute-and-a-half. Patrol cars had already reached the gas station and had it under control. It was big deal. It’s very likely that if the officer hadn’t been so ready to intervene, he wouldn’t have been shot.

Is this a way to live, being suspicious, always hungry to intervene? One of the things I’ve learned from this book is, don’t pretend what you do doesn’t shape you. Can a steam shower and the Venice Beach sun wash off what gets rubbed in at night? Kurt’s been in a lot of fistfights and scrums, and he’s pulled his gun many times, but he’s never had to fire it. This is his third year on the force. I told him about Cynthia Ringo, a sex crimes investigator in Atlanta who had to quit after two years because it was making her jaded about the human character.

“Was she young?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah. Early twenties at the time, I think.”

“If I was in my early twenties, doing this, it would get to me, too. But you learn how to protect yourself, keep your distance, and you just know yourself better, And when you’ve had to fight to know yourself, you don’t give that ground back, not to anything.”

Kurt is a good man; he doesn’t seem poisoned by his calling. If anything, the work seems to intensify his goodness, refine it, give him a spine, strengthen the spine, straighten it. He’s working his turf, a turf defined by city limits on the east and north and Peck Road and Interstate 10 on the west and south. It’s a bigger challenge to tackle than any he could face in business, but it’s not so big that he can’t make a significant impact, and not so big that he doesn’t feel, every night, like he made this world just that much better, taking that bad guy off the street, protecting that woman from her drunk husband, steering gang members into the workforce, giving the new Americans in this city a chance. Crime is bad in El Monte, but crime is down in El Monte; there are many reasons for this, but when Kurt steps out of his steam shower at dawn, and crawls into bed, he knows he’s one of those reasons. And after five or six hours sleep, he’ll wake, and hop out of bed, and be excited to get back there.

http://pobronson.com/WSIDWML_Kurt_Timken.htm

Gava Joe said...

Thank You Jim - That was a good read.. I'll never mount another set of Timken wheel bearings again without thinking of Kurt in El Monte.. And wish him "Godspeed".

JIM said...

Take care GJ.

JIM said...

In contrast to other racial and ethnic groups, Latinos are highly organized. Their shot-callers compile lists of other gangs targeted with green lights...


A CALDRON OF FEAR AND VIOLENCE
By Bob Baker


Hell might be this: A place where all of the racial hatreds, gang wars and law enforcement problems of an entire metropolis are squeezed down into a single bastardized society so hard and twisted it defies reason.

Los Angeles funnels thousands of its worst, from hundreds of gangland neighborhoods, into the sprawling Pitchess Detention Center in the rugged foothills of Castaic. There are killers and crack dealers, carjackers and small-time thieves, and untold numbers of innocent men--all prisoners in a madhouse, struggling for power and survival in loud, overcrowded jail dormitories never meant to house dangerous felons.

Tensions smolder day and night, erupting time and again in bloody clashes: fistfights, "rat pack" beatings of 10 or 12 on one, full-blown race riots.

Sometimes hundreds of prisoners fight at once, malice surging like high voltage, inmate to inmate, dorm to dorm. Guards scramble to impose order with pellet guns and sting-ball grenades--a harsh style of discipline that often dances on the line between what is necessary and what is not.

Pitchess was the scene of 57 violent disturbances last year, 123 the year before that. It is an extraordinary place in a system that is in deep trouble on all fronts.

The Los Angeles County jails are an institution, like the courts and City Hall, that form part of the immense regulating machinery of society: pumps and filters to cleanse the streets of lawbreakers, to deter crime. In some areas, the whine of the motors is no more than a faint hum, but in many communities--especially in impoverished minority neighborhoods--the jails are a roaring presence, touching nearly everyone, dividing families, drawing up thousands of teenagers into the penal system.

Only now does Dave allow a character briefly onstage:

"No one wants to go to jail, but a lot of the youth here in the inner city feel that it's inevitable," said DeWayne Holmes, 28, a former inmate from South-Central who has helped crusade for a gang truce. "The typical youth . . . if he's never been in [jail] or never been shot or never been involved in drugs, he'll say, 'I was lucky.' "

Now Dave steps outside the jail to show how it is part of an institutional mess:

Eight major facilities make up the nation's largest county jail system, one that handles 250,000 inmates a year. At any given time, its cells, holding tanks and dormitories house 18,000 to 20,000 prisoners--men and women locked up to await trial, or serving sentences, or in transit to and from the courts and state prisons.

The machinery is overloaded, running hot. The Sheriff's Department, which operates the system, has closed several older jails in recent years--reducing capacity by 5,000 inmates--and has run short of money to open Twin Towers, a new, 4,100-bed jail that cost $373 million to build.

Jail space could be doubled and still not accommodate all the criminals that should be in custody, according to the Sheriff's Department. Thousands are arrested and convicted each year, only to be released for lack of room. Not a single neighborhood is unstained by the leakage.

"The problem is enormous," said Chief Mark Squiers, head of the Sheriff's Custody Division, who said the department has pleaded in vain for financial help. "We holler . . . and nobody gives a damn. It doesn't work."

Now Dave takes you back inside, where most of the story will be played out, foreshadowing the major themes:

Inside, the jails are old, rat-infested, understaffed, overcrowded. The clientele is rougher than ever--more felons, more repeat offenders bound for state prisons.

Center of Maelstrom

Perhaps nowhere is the system more bent and cracking than at Pitchess, where life is dominated by mayhem, or the prospects of mayhem. In between meals and sleep and the regimented routines of the jailhouse, prisoners spend much of their time girding for trouble: forming alliances, crafting weapons that they secrete in their mattress pads or candy bars and claiming strategic bunks with a wall at their backs.

Every prisoner and every guard plays some role in tilting the balance between order and chaos. Whichever prevails at the moment is the result of forces swirling at many levels: racism, gang politics, the often hostile relationship between angry, mostly minority inmates and the predominantly white, inexperienced deputies who serve as jail guards.

"It's hard to describe the fear," said Lycurgus Helton, 31, a black inmate who was stomped but not seriously hurt during the worst upheaval at Pitchess so far: five days of race riots in January, when 5,300 of the 8,500 prisoners went to battle. Six guards and 123 inmates were injured after the Mexican Mafia ordered an attack on blacks, for reasons that authorities have never been able to learn.

"It was insanity," said Helton, who is doing time for robbery. "Blood everywhere. It was like something coming to an end--like the book of Revelation, like the Holocaust, whatever you want to say."

Latinos account for half of the inmates, and blacks another third. Those two groups have been at war for years--as have Latinos and Asians, who are outnumbered by their antagonists 50 to 1.

Race riots and gang fights often are orchestrated by the same men who set down the dorms' unwritten rules of conduct: tattooed gang leaders known as "shot-callers," links in a vast criminal network that extends far beyond this remote compound, 40 miles north of downtown.

The network fairly crackles with schemes and gang gossip, tying Pitchess to the streets and to leaders of the Mexican Mafia, a powerful gang in the state prison system. Word of a drive-by shooting in Venice or a drug rip-off in East L.A. reaches the shot-callers over any of hundreds of inmate telephones in the Pitchess dorms.

Shot-callers take advantage of the captive dorm populations to retaliate, ordering a "green light" for attacks on members of rival gangs or racial groups who happen to be in custody.

Assaults continue until the score is settled, a form of retribution and extortion whose effects ripple back to the streets.

While some combatants are gang leaders, far more are foot soldiers, bound to loyalty to warring factions by lifelong biases, coercion and peer pressures.

Watch how Dave, now convinced he's successfully brought you into this circle of hell, begins to bring in anecedotes for small personal illustrations. The first one personifies the previous statement about race:

"Even if a Mexican grew up next to me, we really can't be friends in here," said black inmate Steven Troup, 26, of South-Central, who gravitated to street gangs at age 9. He has been in and out of Pitchess and the prison system for eight years, this time after police accused him of hiding 28 rocks of cocaine in a plastic bag in his mouth.

His tattoos, like those of hundreds of inmates, suggest his long commitment to the gang world: On his left fist and muscular right forearm are the initials "U.G.," signifying the Under Ground Crips. His are modest examples of a vast lexicon of jailhouse tattoos: gang monikers, slogans and territories woven into fleshy tableaux of snakes, skulls and unclad women--a living Rosetta stone of urban culture.

Racial pride is intense, creating the deepest divisions in the jailhouse. Inmates segregate themselves as much as possible within each dormitory, dividing up bunks, tables and telephones. At the maximum-security East facility--one of four separate jails in the Pitchess compound--only Latinos and blacks live in six cavernous rooms upstairs: the "thunder dorms," inmates call them, for the booming noises of the riots there.

The next anecdote, artfully integrated, illustrates a narrower facet of the racial chasm:

Each concrete room contains 130 men and nine telephones that stand in a row like ebony tombstones. By agreement of the shot-callers, five phones belong to Latinos, four to blacks. That leaves none for the likes of Roberto Sanchez, who is both--a black-skinned Cuban, 35, arrested in December on a grand-theft charge.

Sanchez insists he should not even be here: He ran off with a man's gun, he said, to prevent the man from shooting someone. In the dorms he became everyone's victim. For trying to use one of the Latino phones, he was led to the back of the dorm by two blacks, who slapped him and berated him for showing allegiance to the enemy.

" 'Over here, we don't talk to Spanish people,' " Sanchez recalls them saying. "I told them, 'I'm Spanish--I'm Cuban.' They told me it don't make no difference--my skin is black."

He was forced to "roll up," bundle his bedsheet and pillow and plead with the guards to transfer him elsewhere. Sanchez ended up in six different dorms before being moved into a less hostile "old man's" dorm, normally reserved for inmates over 40. At one stop, about 25 Latinos beat him until he dropped to the floor, a bloody assault that one inmate described as a "mob scene, a lot of noise . . . screaming" that went on for 10 minutes.

No one tried to help him.

Now, here's Dave's essay:

Jail is not for me. I'd pretty much spent my whole life paying my traffic fines, staying out of bookie joints and generally refraining from physical attacks against my antagonists (i.e., editors), so as to avoid being thrown behind bars.

Now, though, a journalistic twist of fate put me in a new position: describe life inside the Pitches Detention Center.

From the outset, questions of access dominated my worries about whether I could put a story together. Pitchess, the county's largest jail compound, had been the site of recurring race riots for years. In January, more than 5,000 Pitchess inmates had taken part in racial melees that lasted for several days. There was no getting around the fact that an in-depth story would deal with a lot of violence and ugliness that would paint the jail system in a very bad light.

I think the story was made possible in part because of good timing, and in part because of the tremendous leverage of a paper such as The Times. In the beginning, we conceived a multi-part project involving several reporters. I would write about Pitchess. Two other reporters, Julie Tamaki and Eric Lichtblau, would investigate other issues affecting the entire jail system--overcrowding, medical care, jail deaths, whatever we could find. Another reporter, Paul Feldman, was brought into the project soon after it began. Clarence Williams was asked to spend weeks taking pictures.

We made it clear to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, which runs the jail system, that we planned to take a comprehensive look at the various problems within the system. It seemed to me that the early commitment we made toward a deeply probing story helped to open doors for us-at least at first.

The Sheriff's Department appeared to recognize that it would have to work with us or we would challenge the department in court. At the same time, political forces were clearly at work. The Sheriff was facing a new round of budget hearings and was looking to demonstrate his need for additional money.

''This could actually help us,'' one member of the department remarked upon hearing of our plans.

Our first step in pursuing the story was to file the first of many FOIA requests, asking for basic background information about budgets, jail capacities, the demographics of inmates, the frequency of racial fights, and so on. We also asked to tour the major jails. For one long, grueling day, we walked what seemed like miles of hallways, kitchens and cellblocks at two facilities downtown: overcrowded Central Jail and the newly built, unopened Twin Towers Jail, which sat empty because the department lacked the money to run it. A day later, we spent another long, grueling day walking through each of the four separate jails that occupy the Pitchess compound.

The tours gave me an important head start in understanding the jail system, and Pitchess, in particular. While we were not able to talk to the inmates, we were able to see how the various jails compared--how Central Jail, for example, with its long rows of cells, was different than the Pitchess jails, where prisoners are housed in large, crowded dormitories. I filled up two or three notebooks with information from deputies about how the jails operate--how prisoners are booked into custody, how they're moved from place to place, how they fashion weapons out of shoes, newspapers and toothbrushes, how decisions are made about where each prisoner is kept, how discipline is meted out when fights erupt.

I was struck by the enormous complexity of a system that handles about 20,000 prisoners a day. Pitchess, a former honor farm, held more than 8,000 inmates, many of them gangsters and violent felons awaiting trial. The four jails at Pitchess were very distinct. One, for low-risk inmates, looked like a row of old Army barracks. Another, for medium-security inmates, looked like a drab gray industrial building. The two jails for maximum-security prisoners could not have been more different: One was among the oldest jails in the state, filled with exposed pipes, chain-link barriers and clanging metal bars; the other was a vast, sparkling new building that looked like an art museum.

Very quickly, I needed to start exploring life in each of the four jails, looking for similarities and differences, for the commonalities that would help to build the story. I needed to find out about the racial fights and why they occurred. I needed to learn about mealtimes and inmate movement and the daily flow of life. I needed to start talking with prisoners of every major racial and ethnic group.

But how?

First I needed names. I started with lawsuits and public watchdog groups. As part of an oversight commission's recommendations, the county had hired an independent attorney to oversee certain reforms in the Sheriff's Department. I arranged to sit down with that attorney and discuss the jails, and he directed me to a number of inmate lawsuits that he thought would be relevant to Pitchess. That saved me considerable time looking through indices and court files.

I started looking up lawsuits, calling attorneys and tracking down disgruntled former inmates. I also made calls to the ACLU, Police Watch and other groups that monitor jail conditions. During this research, I was given the phone number of a private investigator who had begun exploring the treatment of inmates at Pitchess. This investigator provided me with a list of inmates from one Pitchess dorm in the older, maximum-security jail. These inmates had been through the January riots and were still in custody, several weeks later.

The list--about a dozen names--was enough to get me started. I began to arrange interviews. There were two options: I could try to take advantage of weekend visiting hours and conduct interviews through thick glass, side by side with scores of other visitors, or I could request preferential treatment. I chose the latter. Fortunately, the Sheriff's Department was still cooperating with us, a situation that would change soon enough.

After a fair amount of persuading, high-ranking members of the Custody Division agreed to allow me to sit down privately, one-on-one, with the inmates of my choice, provided that their lawyers consented. I was able to conduct several long, sit-down interviews this way. The inmates I met were allowed to meet with me in borrowed offices; each time, a guard stood just outside the door. One inmate, in particular, gave me a fascinating, detailed description of inmate society, laying out the general relationships among the various racial and ethnic groups, and also between inmates and guards.

The information was great, but it made me realize there were very many facets to the story. I was frustrated by how much time it was taking to arrange new interviews. In some cases, inmates I hoped to see--men with startling experiences, according to the private investigator--were not allowed to meet with me because their lawyers objected. Clarence Williams was frustrated, too; he was supposed to be taking pictures, and he was not yet able to gain access to the jails, beyond what we saw during the tour.

I decided to ask for time with the jail guards. I asked to spend time with guards on duty so I could see how they monitored the dormitories, how they funneled inmates through the cafeteria for dinner. I asked to observe portions of the wee-hour morning shift, the afternoon shift and the night shifts at the various jails, and to bring Clarence with me to take photographs.

These sessions were filled with anxiety. They occurred as the Sheriff's Department began to grow apprehensive about our project. Our colleagues were beginning to ask hard questions about the early release of prisoners back to the streets and the Sheriff's management of budget allocations. The mid-management jailers who chaperoned photographer Clarence and I through these work shifts were very obviously uncomfortable with our presence, and for good reason, I suppose.

Clarence was allowed to photograph inmates so long as they signed consent forms. Meanwhile, I was interviewing guards. My real targets--the inmates--were only a few feet away, behind bars, but I was not allowed to interview them because I had not yet obtained the consent of their attorneys. I had to walk that fine line between interviewing and not interviewing.

Inmates kept calling me over, eager to talk. I would wander over to the bars while the jailers watched me, or while they watched Clarence fiddling with his camera not far away.

I took down the inmates' names and the names of their lawyers and made notations about their physical appearance, mustaches, tattoos, anything that could help bring the story to life. I always had with me a thick stack of business cards, and I passed them out liberally. ''Call me collect,'' I told one and all. As much as I could, I stood and listened to the inmates while they gabbed at me, not asking questions, taking only as many notes as I dared. Several times I managed to slip in a few questions, and more than once I ended up hearing such amazing tales that I found myself scrawling madly to get down the information.

Twice one of my escorts led me away to a secluded room, where I was lectured about breaking the rules. I was shown a thick rule book. I was not actually doing an interview, I would try to point out.

I'd hoped to cover seven or eight shifts at the various Pitchess jails, but that plan fizzled. I soon realized--to the great relief of the Sheriff's Department--that three or four shifts was enough. My business cards were circulating all over Pitchess, and my phone was ringing incessantly. I had to spend the next couple of weeks doing phone interviews, talking to dozens of prisoners, some more than once. Some of my better sources helped to track down other inmates who could fill in the gaps in my research.

''I need to talk to a few more white inmates,'' I told one source, a black prisoner.

Soon afterward, several white prisoners were calling me on the phone. By the time I had to write, I owned a bonanza of anecdotes and insights, about everything from racial beatings to the Mexican Mafia to sex in the bunks--and I tried to squeeze every bit of it that I could into the story.

We return to the story. Watch how Dave continues to organize the story segment-by-segment, and how disciplined he is about making his general points and allowing only the most compelling characters to leave his notebook and come onstage.

We had stopped at the end of the passage about Roberto Sanchez that illustrated the black-Latino segregation. Sanchez was...

...forced to "roll up," bundle his bedsheet and pillow and plead with the guards to transfer him elsewhere. Sanchez ended up in six different dorms before being moved into a less hostile "old man's" dorm, normally reserved for inmates over 40. At one stop, about 25 Latinos beat him until he dropped to the floor, a bloody assault that one inmate described as a "mob scene, a lot of noise . . . screaming" that went on for 10 minutes.

No one tried to help him.

Staking Out Territory

At downtown's Men's Central Jail, where many of the county's most hardened inmates are held, guards usually are able to isolate incompatible elements in separate cells and cellblocks. But that is far more difficult at Pitchess, a sprawl of pale buildings and chain-link fences that occupies 3,800 acres of ranch land near Magic Mountain.

Developed over several decades as the Wayside Honor Rancho--a work farm mainly for drunks, traffic violators and other nonviolent offenders--the compound is considered inadequate for today's demands. Its defining characteristic is its large dormitories, varying in size and shape and crowded with double and triple bunks.

The dorms house 70 to 140 inmates at a time, often in space designed for half that many. Minor offenders share tables and open toilets with alleged killers, armed robbers and rapists awaiting their day in court.

Trifling matters--a stolen tube of toothpaste, someone cutting in line for the showers--become issues of staggering importance in rooms where men brood endlessly over their legal woes and where some keep all their worldly possessions in a small box. A disagreement over "proper bathroom etiquette" blew up last year into a race riot involving 100 inmates, jail administrators said.

"This county is crazy," said former inmate Mario Wellington, 34, who led nightly prayer groups at Pitchess before being sent to state prison for selling marijuana. He was in one of the huge East dorms when rioting broke out in January. He recalled the terror of objects flying, bunks overturning.

"Your life is on the line," he said. "You draw a circle around yourself and defend [it]. . . . A guy came in my circle and . . . I don't know if he was coming to hurt me or not. All I knew was, he came too close to me. I hit him twice and he fell, and when he fell I stomped on him twice and dragged him away from me. Then somebody else came at me, and I fought. I felt bad about it, because I'm a child of God. But God don't have no punks--God has warriors. Ecclesiastes says there's a time for war."

Even when fights are not raging, the dorms operate under Byzantine rules imposed by the shot-callers. Issues that threaten to stir violence are often brought before them in "court," where the shot-callers yank at the levers of emotion and reason to try to negotiate peace.

Sometimes they decide that the only alternative to an all-out brawl is to punish a thief or troublemaker. Each racial group is expected to handle its own. Thieves are usually escorted to the rear of the dorm, out of easy view of the guards, and beaten--a practice known as "regulating."

For lesser offenses--say, disruptive yakking at night--blacks may force a brother to roll up, transfer out, in lieu of getting hurt. Latinos are more likely to regulate their own, no matter what the charge.

On occasions when the shot-callers cannot agree, disputes quickly escalate into far greater violence. That was the case in April at the maximum-security North County Correctional Facility, the largest and newest of the Pitchess jails, where an 18-year-old black inmate was accused of taking a metal shank--a makeshift knife--that belonged to a Latino.

When the shank turned up missing, the shot-callers discussed where it had been hidden and where the black inmate, Ronald Harrington, had been seen. Harrington staunchly denied the theft. Other blacks decided to stand by him, despite being badly outnumbered, said inmate Gregory Robinson, one of the allies.

"He swore on his mother and swore on his neighborhood that he didn't take it," Robinson said. "He almost broke down and cried."

That night Latinos timed their assault to begin at the call for the wristband count--the announcement ordering inmates to their bunks, so guards can run a checklist to be sure no one has escaped. Twenty men were injured in the fierce surprise attack, Harrington worst of all. He had to be transported to nearby Henry Mayo Newhall Memorial Hospital and later Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center, where he underwent five days of treatment for facial wounds and stab wounds in his leg.

"They were jumping off the top bunk down onto his face, his neck," Robinson recalled. "Man, you should have seen it--kicking his face off the side of a steel bed. They kicked his head off the ground, stomped him unconscious."

Survival Tactics

Whites, who account for 15% of the inmates, live in constant fear of attack, as do other outnumbered groups. The safest are those who are strong or in dorms with a favorable racial balance or who are willing to pay "rent" to the shot-callers in the form of snacks and other items from the inmate store.

Ken Wolf, a 37-year-old Caucasian who spent time at Pitchess this year on a drug charge, said he was housed in a mostly black dorm.

"The first thing I did," he said, "was I found the biggest black guy there and paid him protection," two $1 items a week--either prepackaged cups of soup, potato chips or instant coffee. And he went beyond that, volunteering to write letters. Wolf averaged four letters a day, to girlfriends, to women listed in the personal ads.

"I wrote a lot of letters for people who really didn't know how to write," he said. "People were coming to me, [saying], 'Write me a letter to this one.' I felt kind of important. I knew nobody was going to mess with me. Nobody would let it happen."

Wolf was housed in medium-security North jail, a low, gray concrete building, which looks like a wing in an industrial park. Its dorms hold 100 prisoners apiece. Bunks are assigned, but prisoners claim their own beds once the lights go down. Latinos take over the row along one wall, blacks the other, leaving a middle row for whites and others of lesser importance.

The shot-callers sleep in the bottom bunks at the rear of the room, where they can hang sheets from the upper bunks and afford themselves privacy from the guards. Many use the seclusion, Wolf said, to smoke homemade cigarettes made from coffee grounds and lettuce. The ersatz tobacco is wrapped in pages torn from the free Bibles the chaplains pass out. The cigarettes are lit by jamming pencil leads into a wall outlet, creating an electrical short that will ignite a wad of toilet paper.

Sex in the dorms is uncommon and rarely discussed, but Wolf said it happens. Two men were understood to be partners; one made the other's bed, gave him extra food, brought him coffee in the morning. Another prisoner went from bed to bed at night, sleeping with several inmates, until he was badly beaten and transferred out. The rumor, Wolf said, was that one of his former sexual partners in another dorm had tested positive for HIV, and one of his new partners vented his rage by beating him.

"It looked like his eye was coming out," Wolf said. "There was a lot of blood. You learn real quick not to look. You get checked: 'Mind your own goddamn business.' "

Outside Influences

It is every prisoner's business to be alert for signs of danger. In the name of preparedness, prisoners arm themselves and their allies with weapons they craft and hide: razors melted onto the ends of toothbrushes, steel slivers cut from air vents and socks filled with scraps of tile. In the heat of battle, others are improvised. At North, where the ceilings are low, prisoners can stand on the bunks and break off fluorescent lights. Although the phones are rarely vandalized, one inmate said he has seen a receiver snapped off, the metal cord used as a whip.

Though administrators and guards continually search for concealed weapons and move inmates around to keep racial balances from becoming volatile, trouble flares anyway, often for reasons rooted in the streets. In 1994, the year that Pitchess disturbances soared to 123, two deadly feuds were raging in the county: one between Latinos and blacks in Venice, another between Latinos and Asians in Long Beach.

An incident that May, when Asians shot and killed three Latino teenagers as they were leaving a birthday party, is still cited by shot-callers who keep a green light on Asians in the dorms. An attack in March occurred even after guards were tipped to it. Deputies transferred 28 inmates, but still Latinos singled out the weakest-looking Asian from a group housed in an East dorm and beat him badly enough to put him in the infirmary.

"Anything that happens on the streets these days, the prisoners in here have to pay for it," said one Latino inmate, who spoke on condition of anonymity. "This is the way it is handled."

In contrast to other racial and ethnic groups, Latinos are highly organized. Their shot-callers compile lists of other gangs targeted with green lights. Often those targets are other Latino gangs that have run afoul of the Mexican Mafia by violating its ban on drive-by shootings or by failing to pay "taxes" on drug sales on the streets.

The lists are circulated from dorm to dorm, by phone or by means of smuggled jailhouse notes known as "kites," a standard form of communication at Pitchess. Kites float through the halls in the shoes or waistbands of prisoners going to court or the infirmary, on meal carts pushed dorm to dorm by inmate workers, and in plastic bags that inmates carry anally.

Even when attacked, targeted Latino gangs are expected to side with their assailants when the time comes for war with blacks, a traditional enemy in the penal system dating back decades, to when blacks were the dominant group. Latinos and blacks alike are expected to support their brothers or risk further attack later, either at Pitchess or in the state prisons.

"You can't go in there and say, 'I'm an individual, I'm by myself,' " former inmate Holmes said. "There is no neutral corner."

Inmates caught fighting are usually given 10 days in the "hole," Pitchess' cramped disciplinary cells. But many aggressors go unpunished--in part because snitches are savagely regulated and because surveillance by nearly 700 guards often is inadequate.

A single deputy in the newest Pitchess jail must watch 250 to 300 men. At East, the oldest jail, a guard supervises 130 men by peering through thick wire mesh into a room crowded with square pillars, long rows of bunks and hanging sheets.

Many prisoners express bitterness about the guards. They say the guards foment trouble to keep inmates divided--and therefore less able to challenge authority--and that they allow riots to occur so they can earn overtime. The county spent $5.5 million last year on overtime at Pitchess, beyond normal payroll expenses of $51 million. It paid an additional $600,000 in overtime just to handle the January riots.

Although administrators scoffed at the notion that guards might angle for extra income, they acknowledged that a small number of deputies fail to treat inmates or their belongings with proper respect. Inmates say the guards curse them, rough them up and treat them as anything but men who are, in many cases, not yet convicted by the courts and who are presumed innocent in the eyes of the law.

Adding to the Tension

Seventy-six complaints of excessive force were filed against Pitchess guards last year; 12 were sustained. Guards sometimes create conflict among inmates by singling out culprits when an entire dorm is disciplined, prisoners said.

"[A guard] will say, 'You can blame so-and-so for having the TV turned off,' " inmate Phillip M. Diaz said. "He may name a black, or he may name a Mexican. They start yelling at each other, and then starts the physical part."

During dorm inspections, guards are supposed to place the prisoners' personal possessions--deodorant, shampoo, stamps, photographs and the like--atop their bunks, so they do not get lost. Instead, candy bars are often crushed underfoot to look for razors and shanks. Other belongings, according to inmates, are often tossed to the floor and mixed together, sometimes even thrown away.

Missing items lead to accusations of theft, inflaming the tensions.

"They keep the war going," inmate Ansar Muhammad, 34, said of the guards. "They're trying to keep the racial war [between] the Mexicans and blacks, but pretty soon it's going to be against them. They can't see it. They're not aware of what they're creating."

That bitterness is heaped on top of anguish at being separated from loved ones.

Carlos Bandino, 42, a soft-spoken man with a gray-flecked mustache and the tattoo of a nude woman on his forearm, is one of about 500 inmates facing "third-strike" charges that could send them away for life. He was accused of armed robbery and brandishing a firearm after police officers confiscated stolen property from his home.

"If this 'three-strikes' law is not abolished, [the inmates] are going to go up against the [guards]," he said. "That's what I hear through the grapevine . . . coming down from the state [prison] system: a green light on everything.

"If law enforcement's going out of their way to crack somebody and put them away for life, that's pretty much what it's coming to--the convicts versus enforcement."

Being jailed has disrupted his attempt to go straight and to make something of his life, Bandino said. It has cost him his job as a warehouse watchman and caused problems for his wife and children: They had to give up their rental home in Covina and move to Adalanto, near Victorville. His wife, Debbie, gets by on welfare, raising her three children from a previous marriage, plus a baby daughter she and Bandino had two years ago.

One son, 14, has begun having trouble in school--fighting, failing classes, she said. Her other son, 10, was caught throwing rocks and breaking windows.

"He's got a lot of anger in him," Debbie said. "I'm having a hard time getting control of them ever since [my husband's] been gone."

Bandino frets over their well-being. He grew up without a father, and he fears that his baby daughter will do the same.

Jail reaches across generations that way.

Inmate Daniel Zepeda, accused of carrying a concealed gun, has survived dubious odds to reach the cusp of adulthood.

At 21, he stood shirtless in one of Pitchess' aging disciplinary cells, his chest emblazoned with the signature of his neighborhood: "Puente." His younger brother was here before him, on the way to prison, Zepeda said, and his father was here before that.

"My dad used to tell me, just in case I'd go to prison, how to handle myself," he said. "I'm on that road. It looks like I'm going to be there."

It is not a road he likes, but it is the only route he knows: the gangs, the violence, inside the system and out. It is his past, and it is all he can really see for his future.

"Jail was all I knew, basically--that and the streets," Zepeda said. "It ain't no place to grow up."

Anonymous said...

JIM

You need to believe that every
bicyclist is moving dope, every woman at the bus stop is a man selling blow jobs, every ski cap is hiding a bald head. Every tattoo is gang-related. Every hand you can’t see is holding a bag of dope or a weapon.

That was a beautiful story.That just goes to show you the contradictions in law enforcement.
The Court say's you are innocent until proven guilty.
The Pigs say you are guilty until proven innocent.
I was really hoping this story would end with Kurt getting his head blown off.Unfotunatly he's still out there steriotyping everybody he sees.The pregnate mother at the bus stop , oh yeah she must be sucking dick.
And you guy's wonder why nobody likes you and everybody lies to you just go back and read your article from a citizen stand point.I hate you fuckers more now!And I got my clip ready for YOU!

Anonymous said...

What the Fuck does some Gavacho cop who grew up in Idaho know about ELA ?

Anonymous said...

"What the Fuck does some Gavacho cop who grew up in Idaho know about ELA"

probably not a damn thing, and the only thing he knows about El Monte is how to hang out drunk at the summer concerts at the park, but as long as he stays in good standing with the borracho chief he'll be there for awhile, just like the killer cop whom they still got running around setting people up. they must be doing a good job of it though cause things aint like they used to be, no more hookers on garvey, the pele apts are gone, the klingerman apts are dead, hayes and hicks look like ghost towns,if your from monte and your reading this it only only means the empd hasnt whacked you and your not doing
25 w/an L on a trumped up possesion or petty w/a prior you must have moved out of the city.

Anonymous said...

"That's why it's hard for me to understand why I keep seeing comments like: Somebody should take these fuckers out or Somebody should put a green light on these niggers.Fuck it,Just do it"

whats so hard to understand? aint know body who comments on this blog going to bust a grape! Its easy to sit in the comfort of your own home and talk alot of masa, but action speaks louder then words, most of these knucle heads who log on here are nothing but netbangers, and you cant kill anyone with an email. I dont think any of the people who are on here wolfing shit have ever even met a validated "big homie" or even been to the county jail, the closest they probaly even been to a barrio was renting BLVD nights. The homies who are really putting in work are not at home typing on the computer. also remember most "thugs" are broke and cant afford a computer much less the monthly internet bill, and all the real "gangsters" are locked up and there aint no internet access in level 3 & 4 pintas that I am aware of.

Anonymous said...

So what does that make you? A Juda or a Netbanger ?

Anonymous said...

"So what does that make you? A Juda or a Netbanger"

hey its the internet remember, I could be both or whoever I want to be.i could be some super cop and tell you how I was part of the team that broke up the mob. or I could be a gangster who was in the hoyo at delano with "gangster" and "charles woody" or I could just be that netbanging charater "s" wolfing more masa but you will never know and probaly dont even care, but thats my point, get it.
now break me off 113 donkey kicks with some sound effects for asking stupid questions.

Anonymous said...

Alleged mafia `ghost' sentenced
Beserra gets 19 years
By Sandy Mazza Staff Writer

NORWALK - Henry Beserra choked up and cried briefly while reading a statement to the judge at his sentencing Thursday.
The 30-year-old accountant and UC Riverside graduate was convicted June 5 of attempting to intimidate a trial witness by recording court testimony on his cell phone.
During the trial, prosecutors alleged that Beserra worked as a "ghost" for the Mexican mafia, an undercover contractor for the prison gang. They said Beserra recorded about four minutes of testimony on the gang's behalf before a bailiff confiscated his phone.
Beserra on Thursday again denied that he was involved with the prison gang.
"My priority these past years has been my fiance and her daughter," a crying Beserra told Norwalk Judge Philip Hickok.
His fiance and members of his family were in the courtroom Thursday but declined to talk to a reporter.
"I'm not a monster. I'm a loving fiance and a loving son. ... I never meant to hurt anybody," he said.
Beserra, a Murrieta resident who has worked for four years as a self-employed accountant, could have received a maximum sentence of 40 years to life in prison, since this conviction would have been his third strike.
He was convicted in 1995 of shooting a gun into a car. In 2002, he was convicted of making criminal threats and assault. He was sentenced to about four years in prison in total for the crimes, plus five years probation.
But Hickok struck the 1995 conviction as a strike against Beserra, saying he was young when the crime occurred 11 years ago.
Instead, he sentenced Beserra to 19 years in prison. Hickok credited Beserra for the nine
months he already has served while in custody.
He told Beserra that his prior convictions had not deterred him from committing another felony.
"In 2002, you made a bad decision that didn't get your attention," he told Beserra. "The 1995 conviction momentarily got your attention. You tell me now that you're going to be a credit to society and your family? This must be a horrible experience for them."
On Sept. 2, 2005, Beserra was in the audience at a preliminary hearing in Whittier Court for an attempted murder. Beserra said he was there to support his cousin, who was accused of shooting a Mexican mafia member in the hip on Dec. 28, 2004, in Norwalk.
Prosecutors said Beserra was at the hearing to record the gangster's testimony with his cell phone. They said he meant to share the recording with incarcerated Mexican mafia members to prove that the witness had gone against gang code by testifying.
Beserra took a long look behind him at his family after Hickok handed down the sentence.
"I plan to appeal this right away," he told Hickok, when the judge asked him if he might appeal. "There's nothing to talk about."

does anyone know who is this guy, and who was he recording??

Anonymous said...

Fuck ese, that was a long story and defined log on kurt,
hey by the by you didn't mention if you sucked his dick a few times along the nigth ride with him.
You know what this is just another long and drawen out escape the familiy desires stories.
The fool wanted to be a cop off the gate and weather you agree or not it was just to fuck with people ese.
Anyone wanting to help people out doesn't go into a feild were the people are getting killed by those who are suppose to them.
Chale ese the vato was mecos streight out, and you pulling such a glory ride well all i can say is he sucked the jelly from the donut and my meco heco head freind sucked the tension from him.

Anonymous said...

All cops are killers and if haven't heard or seen something about them, fuck you must have being living in a cave all your life.
Motherfuckers are putos enjoying a brief ride.
In countries that breed terrorists you will see the one of the main cuases is law enforcement and crimes agaist its citizens.
You may or may not beleive me but time will tell the shit hits the fan when least expected.
And putos like this kurt are puppets nothing more nothing less.

don quixote said...

Lalo Guerrero #1
Orale fellow “Wallistas”, “Tanto pedo como siempre,” ‘Batallando dia y noche”, but keep the faith!
Got to respond to an anonymous blogger who recommended some old “Pachuco Rola’s” which were all good and included the famous “Don Tosti” and his Pachuco Bogie hit’s.
But what really hit home was the mention of “Lalo Guerrero” who I had the privilege of knowing almost all of my life. I have and had family members who were friends and who played with Lalo for years in his band.
The late Lalo is now respected not only for his music and composition but also for his political views and support of all things “Chicano”. He is called the “Father of Chicano Music” and the original “Chicano Hepcat”. His seminal recordings of “Marihuana Boogie”, “Chico’s Suave’s”, his 1950’s take offs of “American Standards” Tea for Two (Taco’s for Two), Take me out to the Ballgame (Take me out to zee Bullfights), Davy Crockett (Pancho, Pancho Lopez). Made him lot’s of feria.
But he like many “Mexican Americans” lived between two worlds, the often rejected and dismissed American’s of Mexican decent, and the rejection by Mexico Mexicans as Pochos.
Lalo’s composition of the beautiful and classic “Cancion Mexicana” and “Nunca Jamas” recorded by “Trio Los Pancho’s” was considered the unofficial Mexican National Anthem but Lalo was castigated and refused credit by the Mexican Recording industry because he was a “Chicano” from the old Tucson Barrio.
Lalo was given the outstanding “American Artist Award” by President Clinton among many awards and accolades he received in his later years, but to me and the family he was a real authentic “character”.
One of my Tio’s played the piano for Lalo many many years and was a close friend, (this Tio played the piano like “Horowitz” but due to his lifelong alcoholism never achieved the fame his talent deserved). They were both notorious womanizers and I heard many stories from them concerning their weakness’. (One that always made me laugh like hell was about “Lalo’s paternity case when a former main squeeze took Lalo to court for child support and Lalo fought it vehemently.)
Lalo was not a handsome man and in fact had a “pieface that was scarred by a childhood bout with “smallpox”. When the case went to court the “ex lover” brought the 4 year boy to court and unfortunately for Lalo (and the kid!) was a spitting image of his Dad Lalo.
The judge took one look at the kid and then at Lalo and slammed his gavel down loudly and yelled out Guilty!
Another Tio is a very well known musician who was playing with “Charlie Parker” in New York when he was only 21 years old. He is also famous (or infamous depending on your take) for being engaged to the much older Jazz singer “Ella Fitzgerald”. He was living like a “bought man” on her Long Island mansion and my poor abuelita was having a stroke over it.
Anyway one of my uncles close friends and fellow musician with “Stan Kenton’s Band” was the great “Lennie Niehaus” who now does all the musical scores with “Clint Eastwood” movies. They still tease each other cause Tio was from” Lincoln Hts” and Lennie Niehaus was from “Boyle Hts”.
Lalo Guerrero had a nightclub for many years called “Lalo’s” which was on “Brooklyn Ave and Marianna St. (right in El Hoyo Mara) and he needed some musicians.

Anonymous said...

Pull the string and I'll wink at you, I'm your puppet
I'll do funny things if you want me to, I'm your puppet

I'll be yours to have and to hold
Darling you've got full control of your puppet

Pull another string and I'll kiss your lips, I'm your puppet
Snap your finger and I'll turn you some flips, I'm your puppet

Your every wish is my command
All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand
I'm your puppet, I'm your puppet

I'm just a toy, just a funny boy
That makes you laugh when you're blue
I'll be wonderful, do just what I'm told
I'll do anything for you
I'm your puppet, I'm your puppet

Pull them little strings and I'll sing you a song, I'm your puppet
Make me do right or make me do wrong, I'm your puppet

Treat me good and I'll do anything
I'm just a puppet an you hold my string, I'm your puppet
Yeah, I'm your puppet

Walking, talking, living, loving puppet
I'm hanging on a string girl, I'll do anything now

I'm a walking, talking, living, loving puppet, and I love you

I'm a smiling happy face when you want me to
Even make you happy when you're feeling blue

Anonymous said...

a member of the Dogtown street gang...

LAPD fugitive arrested in Mexico
Alvaro Luna-Jara, a member of the Dogtown street gang, is suspected of shooting and killing 12-year-old Steven Morales on Avenue 58 in 1998. Luna-Jara fled to Mexico and was nabbed on a remote ranch near La Yesca in Nayarit by agents of the Agencia Federal de Investigacions and officers from the Nayarit State Judicial Police, acting on information provided by the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office, the LAPD, the Los Angeles Regional Fugitive Task Force, and the Mexico City Field Office of the United States Marshals Service. “The arrest of Alvaro Luna-Jara was a textbook example of the benefits of the international law enforcement community, the judicial system and governments working together," said John Clark, commander of the Los Angeles Regional Fugitive Task Force, in a release.

Posted June 22, 2006

don quixote said...

#2
#2
So Lalo hired these great young jazz musicians to play at his club and what they were going to play were Mexican standards, bolero’s, ranchero’s etc; and they asked Lalo about their authenticity in front of the Mexican patron’s. Lalo as usual had the answer.
“Don’t worry about it! I’ll get you guys some “bolero shirts” with those puffy sleeves like Desi Arnaz wears in his band and nobody will say a thing!
Lalo’s kids are very successful in the media business but when they were kids one of them was obviously “Gay” and it was a total bringdown for Lalo cause he had a reputation as a big “lady’s man”. My Tio and his friends would crack up cause one day one of the musicians went to Lalo’s house to pick him up and was invited in to wait while Lalo got ready. This musician happened to observe Lalo’s wife giving the oldest son a bath. The kid was 12 years old! Lalo sent the kid away to New York where I understand he stayed and became a very successful dancer.
I think his other Son is a very well known “TV and Movie Producer”.
The last time I saw Lalo was in Palm Springs at the “Las Cazuelas” Restraunt where he became very popular as a singer and entertainer, (his regular admirers were Frank Sinatra, ex President Ford, Henry Kissinger, many big shots) and he hadn’t changed a bit.
I said hello and introduced my wife, and talked about old times and family when he gave me a slightly embarrassed look (bullshit!) and asked if we could sit and keep his “new wife” company, as she didn’t speak any English. He then introduced us to this beautiful, sexy, young (21 or 22, he was about 80 then) Mexican Actress who was his current main squeeze, (I was told later that she wasn’t married to Lalo) and we talked while Lalo did his thing, singing, telling stories, schmoozing, Lalo Guerrero, a great Chicano, activist, pioneer, Character, RIP

JIM said...

El distinguido Don Quixote,
Buenas tardes licenciado - I must admit I was tentative about signing on with JIM to the “Pachuco Rola’s" post, as I was dubious of your take on the music, although I was an instant fan when I "stumbled" unto that site! Man it certainly is a small world. That "hep cat" must a been a kick in the pants!~

Don Q, I just tripped when I listened. Wanted to share.
http://www.arhoolie.com/titles/7040.shtml

JIM said...

Working the Street
MBA Cop Kurt Timken
by Garry Emmons
Harvard Alumni Bulletin

Stripped to the waist in a clinic examining room, Mike, a burly white guy in his late 30s, is an illustrated man. His arms, chest, and neck are a tattooed maze of letters, numbers, and designs signaling his allegiance to the Aryan Nation gang.

The Nazi SS lightning bolts on his forearms are proof that he has seriously injured, and probably killed, persons of another race. “I have an anger problem,” confesses the soft-spoken Mike, who’s spent twenty years, off and on, in some of California’s toughest prisons. But now, with a job and a family, he says of his former life, “I decided I’d had enough.”

For Mike and other penitents among Los Angeles’s 100,000 gang members, the decision to remove gang-related tattoos, or “tats,” shows a fundamental commitment to change — the necessary laser treatments are lengthy, expensive, painful, and emotional. “Removing tats is key to ridding one’s self of the gang symbology that’s so visible to potential employers, so provocative to other gang members, and such a strong reminder of one’s troubled past,” says Henry H. (“Kurt”) Timken II (MBA ’92). A police detective and anti-gang specialist, Timken is the driving force behind the nationally recognized tattoo-removal program, free to gang members, here at the QueensCare Clinic in East Los Angeles.

A six-year veteran of the police force in El Monte, a heavily Hispanic, working-class city of 120,000 at LA’s eastern edge, Timken also knows something about life changes. From early on, he seemed destined to succeed his father, William R. Timken Jr. (MBA ’62), at the helm of The Timken Company, the Canton, Ohio–based multinational manufacturing firm. Indeed, Kurt worked at Timken for five years before HBS, followed by three years at Rockwell International. Then came a turning point.

“I enjoyed my time with the companies I worked for,” says Timken, who envisions returning to business (perhaps in Europe, perhaps with a start-up) when he retires from the El Monte force in ten years. “But when I reached 30, a lot of life forces hit simultaneously. I’d always been intrigued by the excitement of law enforcement and the impact you can have. I decided I wanted to learn the heartbeat of the street and know more about that side of life.”

The heartbeat of the street can quicken in an instant. At a stoplight on one of El Monte’s main drags, a car eases alongside Timken’s blue, unmarked Crown Victoria, and the driver yells out something. In a flash, Timken draws his Heckler-Koch .45 and aims it, out of sight below his window, at the other car. The motorist only wants directions. Timken obliges, then watches him pull away, holstering his weapon. “Until I know better, they might be trying to kill us,” he says.

Support and Suppress

Back in the flow of traffic, Timken explains that “our job is to both support and suppress — give help to the people who need it, while getting the hard-core bad people off the street.” In addition to his clinic work, Timken is raising money for a youth boxing center. It’s all part of the regular outreach he conducts with local businesses to garner backing for the “support” side of the El Monte PD’s mission.

Timken’s search for gang activity one recent afternoon includes using a digital camera to photograph any fresh manifestations of gang graffiti; invoking “probable cause” (choosing from a variety of vehicular infractions) to pull over suspicious, and possibly stolen, cars to check occupants for drugs, guns, or gang-related activity; and driving by the budget motels and low-rent apartment complexes where parolees and gang members hang out.

On the sidewalk, Timken chats with a youth sporting the gang look — shaved head, baggy khakis, Pendleton shirt. “Alvaro has had colleges offer him scholarships,” Timken says later. “I just can’t get through to him — all he wants is to join EMF, El Monte Flores, the biggest of the five local gangs. Gangs offer kids perceived power, money, cars, and respect. They are business enterprises that reward and thrive on hard work, ingenuity, organization, and good mentoring. It’s the evil inverse of what’s taught at HBS.”

A shade under six feet and solidly built, Timken, who is single, has been in some scuffles but has never fired his weapon, nor been fired upon. He always wears his bulletproof vest, and does things by the book. On the street, he’s firmly in command but respectful, bantering in both English and Spanish. “On a street-smarts scale of one to ten, I started at negative five,” Timken recalls. “I worked hard — with the help of excellent training officers — to catch up. Earning your colleagues’ respect here is a little more salient than in most workplaces — they’re depending on you with their lives.” Probably because of that, no other departments, nor the FBI, wanted Timken, even after he paid his own way through a police academy and graduated fourth in his class. He was too far outside the mold, clearly overqualified, and untested on the streets. Finally El Monte, an award-winning, community-oriented department, took a chance on him. Now, the respect is strong and mutual.

It’s 9 p.m. Friday, about the time, Timken says, “when the beer hits the bloodstream.” A traffic stop on a Honda Civic (probable cause: brake light out) turns up an 18-year-old driver, Alejandro, with no license and no insurance. With him is his 21-year-old buddy, Rubén, who’s carrying a marijuana pipe, a meth pipe, and a small quantity of weed in his shoe. There are no weapons in the car, but a brand-new paintball gun and pellets suggest the pair may have been shooting paintballs at cars, a popular diversion.

Suspecting the car may be stolen, Timken calls in a tow truck to impound it, points Alejandro to a nearby bus stop, reads Rubén his rights, and takes him off to jail. There, fellow officers have brought in a hard-core gang member on a weapons charge. That prompts Timken, who had been whistling Bach, to break into song, “I fought the law, and the law won.” As for Rubén, having led him to expect a weekend in jail, Timken “relents” and releases him until a later court date, as he’d intended all along. Now, Rubén won’t miss work the next day, and he’ll owe Timken a favor.

Hot Pursuit

Back on the street again, it’s time for a walk on the wild side. As part of its frontier heritage, El Monte (“End of the Santa Fe Trail”) remains a magnet for prostitutes, particularly transvestites. Police dub them “heeshees” (he/shes); some dress in spiky heels and miniskirts, sporting silicone implants (done in Mexico) that a Hollywood starlet would covet. “Prostitutes use and run drugs for the gangs, set up johns, or them-selves are victims of gang violence,” says Timken. He photographs and questions them, to gather intelligence, he says, on “who’s who in the zoo.” After exchanging some ribald pleasantries, he tells them to go home.

It’s been a quiet night. Then, around midnight, a Ford Taurus, with no lights on, suddenly roars by. “Could be a stolen!” Timken says, radioing it in and hitting the lights and siren, and we are off in pursuit, pedal to the metal, doing seventy at least, screaming down narrow residential streets, stop signs flying by, oncoming cars diving out of our way. We spot his taillights at the end of a cul-de-sac, the car’s front-end smashed into a fence, horn blaring, windshield shattered, airbags deployed, neighbors gawking. But where’s the driver? A police helicopter arrives and Timken directs it to sweep its searchlight over a nearby trailer park where the suspects may have fled. As patrol cars converge on the trailer park, Timken stays with the wreck, and tries to find witnesses.

Two days later, an e-mail from Timken: “Julio V., with two priors, Grand Theft Auto (GTA), was detained in the trailer park. The District Attorney would not file because I couldn’t link Julio to the car. Win some, lose some. We’ll get him next time.”

JIM said...

Kurt Timken on Police Work, Social Issues, and the Dog that Didn’t Bark: Thoughts while Cruising the Streets of El Monte
Harvard Alumni Bulletin


Probable Cause

A lot of what I do is proactive police work, going after people who are actively doing bad things, and putting them away. This job is interesting because you can go home at night knowing you’ve helped the citizenry by taking a very dangerous person off the street. That’s a rewarding feeling.

If I want to be a proactive officer and a good detective, I’m going to be looking for reasons to make contact with people. I’m a firm believer in civil rights, so I need probable cause. There’s nothing that says I can’t walk up to someone and say, “Hey, how are you doing?” and see what develops during the course of conversation. But if I really want to investigate, I need a justification for doing that.

For example, that car in front of us has some things dangling from the rearview mirror. The vehicle code says you’re not to have anything obstructing your view. So I have the right to light him up and pull him over and write a ticket. I can talk to him, look in the car, see what’s going on, get a feel for the situation. I don’t have a lot of time to write up tickets for Joe and Jane Citizen; I would rather save that for offending motorists whom I also recognize are likely to be gangsters. See that nice, newer model Honda over there? If I saw some gangster-looking guys in it, there’s a high probability it’s a stolen — that’s a popular model because they get good money for its parts.

Profiling is a heavy word. I am profiling vehicles and people who I believe may be involved in illicit activities: It doesn’t matter to me if they are “brown,” “white,” or “yellow.” Most of it is just pure experience and the quality of training I received.

That’s an interesting car that made the turn there…some interesting guys in it….

El Monte, Frontier Town

This place has the aura of a frontier town. “End of the Santa Fe Trail” is the logo on our shield. What did a guy on a wagon train 150 years ago want at journey’s end? He wanted a saloon, a hooker, a poker game, a fight….That history and lore have never really left El Monte, with the cops being the hired guns that keep the lid on things.

We’re one of the few places where you’ll find hookers walking around. A lot of johns drive over to El Monte from neighboring cities because we’ve got something on the menu here. It’s been here 150 years and it’s hard to stamp out. Seven out of ten are “he/shes.” When I started here, I found patrol officers were ignoring the whole world of prostitution. Prostitutes are dirty, they’re sick, nobody wants to touch them, and they lie…so most officers just drive by. I decided to focus on them, and I developed intelligence on known prostitutes. Many are drug addicts and deal to keep their habit going. Lots have AIDS. Many become victims of gangsters who tax them. Prostitution is a magnet for a lot of bad things.

This is an old heroin town. Back in the ’60s and ’70s, heroin landed here and has never gone away. Guys did it when they were teenagers and now they’re 50 and 60 and still “chippin’” — doing a little bit every now and then. El Monte is one of those cities where sometimes you see things that aren’t around anymore, as Yogi Berra might say.


Alvaro, the EMF gang wannabe, defaced this scholarship award with gang drawings. Recognized as one of the top high-school students in America, Alvaro never sent in the scholarship's registration form.


Graffiti and Gangs

Taggers (so-called graffiti artists) and gang-related vandals are two different animals. Gangsters want to show they’re out there and active, that this is their turf. Rival gangs write over another gang’s graffiti, they trade written insults, and pretty soon you’ve got an escalating situation. We try to keep this gang-related vandalism down. You want to go to the houses of guys doing writing and jam ’em. You want to stop it quickly because this can end up in drive-by shootings.

Over there, along that wall, are some names: Little Man. Wiser. Spore. Trigger…he’s a parolee, you can guess how he got that nickname. When they write their names on walls, it’s enough probable cause for me to go to their house to investigate. It gets me inside their house.

There are five or six gang-unit officers out of a force of 150 El Monte police. The gang unit is a recent development, even though gangs have been in the city for many years. Unfortunately, we currently face cutbacks in state parole and probation officers. That would be trouble for us.

Armed and Ready

I carry two guns, a can of mace, a knife, a cell phone. I always wear a bulletproof vest. The guns are a .45 caliber Heckler-Koch USP, a German gun, lots of stopping power. I keep a .38 Smith & Wesson in an ankle holster; in a bad situation, I can drop to the ground — or maybe I’m already down — and I can reach it. The knife is for close quarters, when I can’t use a gun. Say a bad guy has my partner in a chokehold, I can use it to cut the bad guy’s throat.

The officer safety component is crucial. There are folks out there who like to carry a gun or knife, and some of them may want to hurt you. That’s the way I approach each situation and everything I do. If it turns out that’s not the case, terrific, I back things down. I turn down the volume, and go with it.

Sophisticated Police Work

The mantra of the street is lie, lie, lie. Lying to a cop and having outstanding warrants…they’re not very sexy charges but enough to get someone off the street.

One day, we were serving a warrant for somebody’s arrest. We went to that apartment there, the one with the grill in the back yard, looking for the guy. We knew some people were hiding inside, so we were banging on the door. Nobody answered, we bang on the window, no answer. So finally I yell out to my partner, “Hey Marty, bring the K-9 dog around!” Marty starts doing some really good dog barks, and a voice from inside suddenly calls out, “Hey, we’re in here, our hands are up!”

On Legalizing Drugs

I see so much of the devastating results of all forms of controlled substances…they just aren’t any good. It’s providing something that’s already bad for people that’s only going to make the situation worse. There are no redeeming qualities or characteristics for any kind of dope, including marijuana…why take something that’s bad and legalize it? It’s not going to help anything. Alcohol abuse is already a huge problem.

If something becomes more available, it’s more mainstream, more kids will do it, who later become parents, and pass it down to the next generation. Imagine how they could jack up the potency of marijuana if it were legal!

On Legalizing Prostitution

I’d be more inclined to legalize prostitution before dope. It might help, you could centralize and regulate it, and do regular testing. I’d need to look around and see if it’s working. I don’t think Amsterdam is a model for the benefits of legalized prostitution, though maybe they would argue differently.

On Gun Ownership

As a street detective, I don’t mind having citizens armed in their homes, and when they are properly licensed, armed in public. Gun registration is crucial, as are licensing laws and penalties. They push the responsibility for keeping firearms safe and accounted for down to the individual citizens who lawfully own them. Frankly, citizens who own guns are often careless about how and where they store their weapons. This means kids get killed by accident, and burglars, often gangsters, steal the guns from homes and cars and commit crimes with them. Education and responsibility are the key.

O C Half Breed said...

Brown on Black "hate crime" in OC:

PRINT ARTICLE E-MAIL ARTICLE CHANGE TYPE SIZE

Saturday, June 24, 2006
Hate crime brings 10 years
An unprovoked Abel Castaneda attacked a black man on a Santa Ana street in 2005.

By LARRY WELBORN
THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER


Ten months later: Steve Lawson, above, says he still has nightmares over Abel Castaneda's attack on him Aug. 23. On Friday, Castaneda was sentenced to 10 years in prison.

LEONARD ORTIZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER


A nervous Steve Lawson stood up and told a judge Friday that his life has not been the same and may never be the same since the day a stranger attacked him because of the color of his skin.

Lawson, 42, said he constantly replays in his mind how he was accosted on a Santa Ana street, repeatedly called the worst kind of racial slurs and then forced to dodge several knife thrusts.

Superior Court Judge M. Marc Kelly said Abel Castaneda's unprovoked attack on Lawson last August is an example of why the state Legislature enacted hate-crime laws.

Kelly then gave Castaneda a 10-year term in state prison.

"You deserve it for your hurtful conduct that day," Kelly said.

The judge said Castaneda used the n-word 30 or 40 times during the midday encounter with Lawson, adding, "that word is poisonous in our society."

Castaneda, who sat handcuffed in the 10th-floor courtroom, denied he was a racist.

Then he twisted around in his chair, faced Lawson and apologized.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said. "Now we are both paying the price."

Lawson was talking on a cell phone on Aug. 23 while waiting for his car to be serviced at a garage on Lacy Street when Castaneda rode by on a bicycle.

Witnesses said Castaneda without provocation shouted the n-word racial slur dozens of times, threatened to kill Lawson and then pulled out a 4-inch folding knife and lunged at his victim.

But Lawson, who was larger and quicker, hit Castaneda several times and wrestled the knife away. Castaneda was arrested two days later.

The assault on Lawson was one of 152 reports of hate crimes and incidents in Orange County in 2005, according to a report issued in May by the Orange County Human Relations Commission. An incident is defined as a hate-motivated comment that is protected by the First Amendment, but is not considered a crime.

Reports of hate crimes against blacks declined in 2005 but remained out of proportion to the population, the report said. Blacks, who make up 1.5 percent of the county population, were targets in 11 percent of the hate-crime reports.

Deputy District Attorney Scott Steiner argued during Castaneda's trial in April that Castaneda didn't just target Lawson with his racial slurs and threats, but also a community.

A jury convicted Castaneda in April of assault, making a criminal threat and several hate-crime penalty enhancements after deliberating for only 90 minutes after a four-day jury trial.

Lawson said he was laid off from work shortly after the incident, and is now looking for employment in sales and marketing.

He said he experiences nightmares and he relives the encounter over and over, "all because someone didn't like the color of my skin."

Asked later if the 10-year sentence was long enough, Lawson replied, "Is there ever enough?"

Anonymous said...

Hey Wally, if you really wanted to make some money of your blog you would ahve implented google adsense. That would most likely motivate you to keep us informed on a weekly basis.

You're lucky you have posters who bring the majority of content from google and yahoo search engines.

Anonymous said...

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San Quentin come for a restful stay
Folsom we'll leave a light on.
Peter Pitches were closer than Palm Springs.
are you a member of the flat earth society?

Anonymous said...

Anonymous said...
Hey Wally, if you really wanted to make some money of your blog you would ahve implented google adsense. That would most likely motivate you to keep us informed on a weekly basis.



Don't type anymore crappy comments. Wally has no obligation to serve you up a weekly dose information... so chale. More evidence of the Red Bull generation... Instant gratification. Yes anyone can do a google, but not everyone has 24/7 time, so when something of interest is found and posted it's a contribution to this blog and _IT"S CALLED SHARING_ you bitter and envious pendejo. We all get it - you get it? This blog is very fortunate to also have the insightful and knowledgeable _first hand accounts_ of people of the writing caliber of -TijuanaJailer and Don Quixote. So we ALL contribute as WE can. Is that so hard to understand Genious??
What's your contribution bitch ass??
Do a google search up your flabby rectum, and I bet you'll find that 14 inch Costco greenhouse English cucumber.
(^:

Anonymous said...

Genius said...
Hey Wally, if you really wanted to make some money of your blog you would ahve implented google adsense. That would most likely motivate you to keep us informed on a weekly basis.

You're lucky you have posters who bring the majority of content from google and yahoo search engines.

Don't type anymore crappy comments. Wally has no obligation to serve you up a weekly dose information... so chale. More evidence of the Red Bull generation... Instant gratification. Yes anyone can do a google, but not everyone has 24/7 time, so when something of interest is found and posted it's a contribution to this blog and _IT"S CALLED SHARING_ you bitter and envious pendejo. We all get it - you get it? This blog is very fortunate to also have the insightful and knowledgeable _first hand accounts_ of people of the writing caliber of -TijuanaJailer and Don Quixote. So we ALL contribute as WE can. Is that so hard to understand Genious??
What's your contribution bitch ass??
Do a google search up your flabby rectum, and I bet you'll find that 14 inch Costco greenhouse English cucumber.
)^:

Anonymous said...

Speaking of "crappy comments", that was a collossal turd! Thanks for the smiling addition to this shitfest. You certainly have a place here. Your reference to the "Costco cuke" makes evident that you've fantasized your own veggie insertion..There was a time you showed some real talent but you let that spoil on the vine.Alas, you should've been nurtured breast-fed and properly toilet trained..Sad that this snarly little lap puppy with all that big-dog envy should emerge from such oversight..

Anonymous said...

To you DORKS who think it's funny to post your rants here.
First learn to spell, then go to the yahoo clubs with your stupidness..
Get a LIFE .... then GET A JOB....Cheez


... and Grandma gonna smack you upside the head...

Anonymous said...

Mafia Times still big piece of poop as of today. Does anyone miss mr. s ? Heard he was working at AAMCO sucking farts off of seat covers.
-hay los watcho

Anonymous said...

What's your contribution bitch ass??
Do a google search up your flabby rectum, and I bet you'll find that 14 inch Costco greenhouse English cucumber.
(^:
HUHU HUU
Lo cagaron bien

Anonymous said...

Is that so hard to understand Genious??
What's your contribution bitch ass??

That'd be G-E-N-I-U-S. But then you sure aint one!

That's my contribution bitch ass moke pendejo lop

JIM said...

Black Versus Brown...

Can the venerable black-Latino coalition survive the surge in Hispanic power?

The July 3-10, 2006 issue
Newsweek
By Ellis Cose

Leticia Vasquez calls hers a "typical immigrant story." Her parents, poor strivers from Mexico, raised five splendidly thriving children—one of whom, Leticia, 34, is now mayor of Lynwood, Calif., the small town where she grew up. It is a heartwarming tale that readily brings to mind a host of clichés about the American dream. But the story does not end with wine, roses and applause. Instead it segues into the troubled terrain of race, corruption and polarization.

Of late, Vasquez has been pilloried by fellow Mexican-Americans for being—in her estimation, at least—too sympathetic to black constituents. Her foes, whose attempt to recall her failed last week when their petitions were found to be lacking, claim race has nothing to do with their discontent. Armando Rea, a former mayor and prominent critic, says the problem is that Vasquez, a "pathological liar," is intent on levying taxes the community cannot afford. Fliers circulated by recall proponents also portray her as the puppet of a former mayor, Paul Richards, who is black and is currently in prison for siphoning off city funds. Vasquez, who says she barely knows Richards, sees the charges as nothing but a smoke screen for racism: "There is this mind-set that if you support someone outside of your ethnicity, you must not like who you are."

Welcome to the topsy-turvy world of ethnic politics in the 21st century, when blacks and Latinos, once presumed to be natural allies, increasingly find themselves competing for power and where promotion of racial harmony is as likely to evoke anger as admiration. Lynwood is a case study in the power of prejudice, the pitfalls of ethnic conflict and, perhaps, ultimately, the potential for interethnic cooperation. It may also foreshadow America's future—one that will increasingly see blacks and Latinos fighting, sometimes together and sometimes each other, to overcome a history of marginalization.

Lynwood's ethnic tensions stem, in part, from the town's rapid ethnic transformation. In the 1970s, blacks began to arrive in significant numbers in the small, largely white, bedroom community of Los Angeles. In 1983, Lynwood elected its first black council member, Robert Henning, who was joined two years later by Evelyn Wells—a black female, who promptly nominated Henning to be mayor. The council (which names the mayor) went along. Blacks quickly came to dominate the political power structure. Meanwhile, Latinos were growing in number. Rea, the first Latino council member, was elected in 1989. In 1997, Latinos (who now comprise 82 percent of the city's 72,000 residents) gained control of the five-member council. Vasquez, who was not then active in politics, remembers "people knocking on the door saying we needed to get rid of black city-council members."

With Rea installed as mayor, the city fired several blacks and dismissed some black contractors. "They got rid of 15 people at one time. Thirteen of those people were black," claims the Rev. Alfreddie Johnson, a Vasquez ally currently on the council. Three black contractors filed suit accusing Rea and his allies of rampant racial discrimination. Rea adamantly rejected the allegations. "There is no color in my council," he declared at the time. No one currently in government seems to know exactly how much ultimately was paid out to settle discrimination complaints or how many people were affected, but Vasquez and Johnson insist that the amount was substantial and the experience traumatic. A former schoolteacher elected in 2003, Vasquez sees herself as a bridge between the two communities. Johnson sees Vasquez as a godsend: "The unique thing about her [is] ... she has this huge affinity for black people." Many longtime black residents are grateful. "We need somebody, regardless of what race they are, to speak for us, too," said Dorothy Smith, a retired teacher and social worker. "A lot of them [Latinos] want to shut us out completely."

As Latinos increasingly become the ethnic majority in once proudly black venues (including Compton, a hip-hop capital, and Watts, formerly L.A.'s black mecca), and as headlines tout them as America's hot, and largest, minority group, many blacks share Smith's fear of being "shut out." Earl Ofari Hutchinson, an L.A.-based writer and activist, recalls the bitter reaction he got for writing a series of articles sympathetic to Latino immigrants: "I have never received so much hate mail from blacks. It touched a nerve among black folks, a raw nerve."

Against the backdrop of Latino-black violence in Los Angeles County jails (which resulted in the deaths of two black inmates), and interethnic fighting in the schools, Najee Ali, executive director of Project Islamic Hope, organized a so-called black-Latino summit earlier this month. There, Christine Chavez, the granddaughter of legendary farmworker leader Cesar Chavez, spoke movingly of her grandfather's patterning his work on Martin Luther King's movement. "In order for a movement for mostly Latino workers to be successful," she said, "we had to reach out to other communities."

After May's massive and largely Latino demonstrations for immigration reform, some believe that era may have passed. "I turned on the TV and saw millions of people nationally and [felt] a sense of fear," confided Ali. "We were now being marginalized." Upon reflection, Ali concluded that the protest paved the way for blacks and Latinos together to "demand a bigger piece of the pie." Many who came to his summit agreed. Blacks and Latinos, they argued, should focus on the powerful interests exploiting both groups instead of squabbling with each other. As California state Sen. Gloria Romero put it, "Nobody walks into a field and says, 'Move over, bro, I'm working now.' These jobs are offered, they are not taken."

That message resonates in Tar Hill, N.C., where black and Latino workers at the colossal Smithfield pork-processing plant originally had little to say to each other. To help break down walls, the United Food and Commercial Workers union organized a monthly potluck dinner. "People started bringing all kinds of food ... from all kinds of ethnic backgrounds, and they shared their stories," said union organizer Eduardo Piña. "People that usually don't trust each other" are recognizing "how similar their situations are."

Ted Shaw, head of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, thinks it is in blacks' self-interest to embrace Latinos struggling to survive. "I think black folks should think long and hard before we ... alienate a growing and powerful community [with] many interests in common," he says.

No one really disagrees with the idea of focusing on common problems instead of retreating into ethnic enclaves. Still, it is anyone's guess how well the black-Latino unity message ultimately will play. Uncontroversial as the principle may be, it is rather difficult to practice; it is almost always easier to see the things that divide Americans than to see what binds—or should bind—us together. What the new demographics are making very clear is that not only whites can have vision problems, but so, too, can blacks and Latinos.

JIM said...

6/24/2006

'Age don't matter' in gang life
Next generation reigns on city's mean streets
San Bernardino Sun
Robert Rogers, Staff Writer

SAN BERNARDINO - He is slightly built, heavily armed and ready to die.
At 16, Lorence is a veteran soldier who claims West Side Verdugo. He has no sympathy for the child who was shot to death Wednesday night on a school basketball court during a friendly game of hoops.

Little Lorence sat on his BMX bike nearby, wearing a Tupac Shakur T-shirt and cocksure smirk.

"I don't know why they shot them," Lorence said. "They wasn't in gangs. They was just like pretty boys."

But Lorence is in a gang.

He said he got "jumped in" at 13 or 14 and owns two guns, a .38 special and a Glock .380, either of which he likes to carry in his waistband.

He's not packing this day. Too many cops around the shooting scene, he said. Nor was he "strapped" about five months ago when he got blasted by some enemies in front of a liquor store on Base Line.

He proudly lifts his shirt sleeve to reveal shotgun pellet scars clustered on the back of his right arm. Lorence, who is Latino, uses a derogatory Spanish word to describe his would-be assassins, whom he considered recent Mexican immigrants.

In the eyes of the schools, the law and the sphere of public opinion, Lorence is a child. But in this borough, steeped in gang culture, he is a man.

Lorence is the fresh face of gangs.

In the deadly bedlam that has claimed the lives of six children citywide and two this month in west San Bernardino, a loosely banded locale where simmering tensions are stoked into fiery gunfights by dirty looks and disrespect, the line between child and adult is blurred.

Kids shoot and get shot, beat and are beaten, struggle with what's left of the older generation for respect and manhood and money.

And in this rugged world, children's deaths are not always perceived as a tragic destruction of innocence.

"You gotta understand a different mentality out here," said "Do Dirty," a 42-year-old with a sun-beaten tattoo on his neck and a shock of white in his black hair. "To people not from here, these kids getting shot is terrible. But here, people have seen kids as killers, shooting and getting shot at with grown men and other kids. Age don't matter."

But to Dirty, who said he's an ex-member of "The Projects," a Crips subsidiary that rules the dilapidated neighborhood south of Base Line off Medical Center Drive, it's the vacuum left by dead and jailed older gangsters that has helped create a youth killing field. He said only the churches can save this neighborhood now.

He offers street-side analysis while drinking purple Gatorade in front of the liquor store/market at West Ninth Street and North Medical Center Drive. He's wearing a blue shirt.

He's an endangered species, and he knows it.

"There ain't many like me left out here."

Word on these streets, cobbled together from scores of sidewalk interviews in different enclaves, is all fear and chaos. The older gangsters are dead or locked up. Leaders don't last. Pockets of violence flare spontaneously. Old beefs simmer and explode into new crime scenes.

Amid the chaos, outrage over children blown down by gunfire strikes a minor chord.

The gangs here include Magnolia Bloods on and around Home Avenue, where 14-year-old Jarred Mitchell was killed, The Projects just south of Base Line, California Gardens to the west and Delmann Heights, a Bloods offshoot, to the west, both black gangs. West Side Verdugo is just east and mostly Latino. Friction runs hot among all these groups, especially California Gardens and Magnolia Bloods, residents say.

Colors matter here, just like they did at the height of crack-cocaine-infused clashes between Bloods and Crips, red and blue, in Los Angeles in the 1980s. In The Projects, blue predominates, while just blocks north, red is conspicuously more prevalent.

They matter more than age.

"People have hearts, but there are a lot of young killers out here who have been putting in work since they were like this," said Jason Tyler, a 24-year-old who lives on the Magnolia Street that gives the neighborhood its name.

He holds his hand about 4 feet off the ground to describe the size of young "workers."

Heavily tattooed, he will say only he is gang "affiliated."

"These kids get started early, and the people around here know that. They know that they could just as easily get shot by a 15-year-old as a 25-year-old."

There is a war, but it's not organized or waged over conventional squabbles like drugs and turf. It's intermittent, low-grade and deadly. Groups of twos and threes can trade tough looks, one boy can talk to another's girl, the fuse is lit, explosions
roar and blood sprays.

And there's an intelligence beyond the government or the media.
"I read about what went down at the school with the kid, and in my mind I know there's more to those kids getting shot than what they say," Tyler said.

He said there may be a racial component. Anthony Michael Ramirez, the dead fifth-grader, and his 13-year-old brother, Joseph, are Latino. The suspects are black. Tyler said retaliation is likely.

"Black people are always targets," he said. "But with this, anybody from Verdugo at any time might come cap some black kid."

Like the post-Cold War world, threats are less clearly defined. The old paradigm of gangs is dead, said Bobby Vega, 47, who lives in West Side Verdugo territory and has worked in youth programs since the 1970s.

"The injunctions, the police crackdowns have scattered the gangs," Vega said. "The structure is destroyed. There are no leaders, no shot callers. Now it's just loose-knit groups of mostly kids running around claiming a certain neighborhood."

The idea of a gang truce to stop the violence is outdated, Vega said.

"Who are you going to have a truce with? There's no leadership left."

Back on Medical Center Drive, in The Projects area, liquor-store manager Joun Seder said the neighborhood is worse than anything he saw growing up in Syria before immigrating to the United States in 1987.

Customers, mostly kids, file in and out. One lopes in, his bloodshot eyes level as he walks, as if he cruising in on a conveyor belt.

After fumbling around the pastry aisle, the blue-shirted boy approached the counter and plopped down a cinnamon roll.

"Are you confused? Are you high?" Seder said jokingly.

The boy said nothing. He looked 15 or 16. He drew out a roll of cash as thick as a deck of cards, peeled off two singles and flicked them on the counter.

Outside, he shrugged his shoulders when asked about the recent shootings claiming the lives of two children not much younger than he.

"People get shot around here all the time," he drawled before whipping out a cell phone and walking off.

Seder sees customers all day every day. He grabbed a newspaper off his rack and put his finger on Jarred Mitchell's picture.

"This kid came in here like 10 times a day," Seder said, shaking his head. "He bought candy and soda. He was a kid."

Right near the door Seder keeps a slushy machine with two flavors, red and blue. His store sits in The Project, but is just a couple blocks from Magnolia Bloods area, where Jarred was killed.

But Jarred's death illuminated the chasm between geographic and cultural differences in the region. It spurred community action, including a meeting of church leaders at his school last month. It reverberated at City Hall, where leaders weighed in on the pressing need to address violence.

It was interpreted differently here, said James Cephas, a pastor at a Seventh-day Adventist Church near Home Avenue.

"Kids get shot, but there's not extra sadness among gangs because they're kids. They avenge deaths, but not any more so because of an age," Cephas said.

"These kids are younger and harder than ever."

Orlando Alexander is practically a graybeard at 19. He stands outside the West Home Avenue house just feet from where Jarred died in the street. He's wearing bright red slippers.

He said he's sad that kids who could have been his little brother are dying on these streets, but he can't let his guard down.

"A lot of what's going on here is kids. It's the older cats that are more laid back," Alexander said. "These kids are scared, they're trying to be hard, and a lot of times they're getting their drink on and their smoke on and they got guns. That's a dangerous combination."

don quixote said...

Interesting posts concerning the recent "black vs brown" power struggles in LA. Sabes que, camarada's of all races?, in a perfect world we would all get along, unite, and work together to achieve justice, peace, and a opportunity to become the best at whatever god given talent or attribute we were blessed with.
Unfortunately that has not been the case.
Black people, who due to slavery, segregation, and discrimination have had a tough history and road to hoe,but after gaining a certain degree of power and influence, have shamefully not been egalitarian or democratic in our human quest for justice and government by one's peers.
After they had gained a certain amount of power and political control, they refused to share with other struggling ethnic groups like "Chicano/Mexicano's, and instead in many cases chose to lock out and marginalize the Chicano/Mexicano to the detriment of all.
The horrible and inflammatory lack of "gumption" at the workplace by Blacks and especially Black Men has created a specific "dislike" and almost gutlike rejection of the hiring of any "black americans".
The cause of this affliction to hard work or "ganas" when it comes to the workplace is something that black people must address soon or the "African American" will cease to exist in the next couple of generations.
The "family structure" of black americans is becoming non-exsistent and along with every other problem that has compounded with blacks in previous years, including the rapid rise of the Latino population in numbers, power, wealth, ambition, and ability to integrate into the mainstream power base, will continue to help disintegrate the black race in the US unless the black "leadership" is willing to address their problems in an honest, frankly brutal, and positive way.
The black power base was unwilling to share power with the Mexican American population in the past and the vitriol and cold shoulder the blacks are now getting from the new and more powerful Mexican American political movement is just another example of "the chicken's coming home to roost"!
Hopefully we don't make the same mistakes as the blacks when we have the power!
Adelante!!

Anonymous said...

Well there was a typically unbiased post from our own Don Quixote. He weaves words well, but they're the same words that have forced the division that the established power perpetuates..

It's the same thing in the joint. It's the same dynamic with your Norte/Sur division. The power structure NEEDS you fragmented. They can only function and move their agendas forward if you remain paralyzed by your hate.

Don Q mentioned the "perfect world" where each man/woman lives the Bill of Rights and pursues their dreams freely. This was'nt just a pipe dream when the Founders wrote it. IT WAS A LAW!
It was ratified and is written in stone.

Unfortunately greed and men (of many colors) have buried the precepts of our creation. Each man by his envy and hatred has forsaken his birthright and the Heaven that was once envisioned on this planet has become at the very least, a Purgatory..

Chicanos and the Asians who will inherit the crown later must realize that these undulating plateaus are only transient. The Blacks fumbled. Hell, the King family is auctioning off MLK's papers to the highest Sotheby's bidder.. Maybe some Arab shiek?

In closing I'd like to thank the Dominican Sisters and Salesian Brothers for my education. Especially the Black, Latino, and Asian members of those orders..

Also you're all a bunch of damned fools if you think the powers that be are just going to render up the keys to the kingdom.. Face it my brothers, That's why the Prez has the "suitcase" with the missile codes.. I do'nt know that there were any blacks or chicanos in the Skull and Bones?? Gj

Anonymous said...

"suitcase" should have been "football" -sorry....

Anonymous said...

So, running around Manhattan over the weekend (I live in NYC but I'm originally from L.A.) and I found a Mexican restaurant called Florencia 13. It's SoCal style food and the interiors are decked out in Chicano art and what not. The food's named after L.A. neighborhoods, etc. and their logo is a caracture of a cholo. There were also prison style photos of veteranos, but the caption only said "southsiders."

I stopped by and had a couple of drinks and asked some questions. Mainly, I wanted to know if it was owned by Chicanos (there are maybe a hundred or so Chicanos in NY) and are they really from L.A. One of the owners talked for me for a minute and said that they all are from L.A. and they moved to NY specifically to open up the restaurant. I was also told that the owner used to be the president of Nosotros.... My question is this: What the fuck is going on? Why is there a restaurant in NY that's named after a gang in L.A. that's run by a supposed "president" of Nosotros? Sounds like it may be a front. I was also intrigued by the fact that they said that they moved to NY to open the restaurant, but why? Why didn't they open it in L.A.? The whole things seems a little off. Does anybody know any background info on Florencia 13? Can anyone shed a little light here?

Walter Mercado said...

I have your Florencio 13" hanging.

Ezekiel Jenkins said...

Anonymous said...
I found a Mexican restaurant called Florencia 13. It's SoCal style food and the interiors are decked out in Chicano art and what not.

Friend, forget about mexican food for a second please, I am going to tell you about life's secret tonic for good health! B-a-n-a-n-a-s.
Thats right pal - bananas. Here is why bananas are good for you...

Containing three natural sugars - sucrose, fructose and glucose combined with fiber, a banana gives an instant, sustained and substantial boost of energy. Research has proven that just two bananas provide enough energy for a strenuous 90-minute workout. No wonder the banana is the number one fruit with the world's leading athletes.

Providing energy isn't the only way a banana can help us keep fit. It can also help overcome or prevent a substantial number of illnesses and conditions, making it a must to add to our daily diet.

Depression: According to a recent survey amongst people suffering from depression, many felt much better after eating a banana. This is because bananas contain tryptophan, a type of protein that the body converts into serotonin, known to make you relax, improve your mood and generally make you feel happier.

PMS: Forget the pills - eat a banana. The vitamin B6 it contains regulates blood glucose levels, which can affect your mood.

Anemia: High in iron, bananas can stimulate the production of hemoglobin in the blood and so helps in cases of anemia.

Blood Pressure: This unique tropical fruit is extremely high in potassium yet low in salt, making it the perfect way to beat high blood pressure. So much so, the US Food and Drug Administration has just allowed the banana industry to make official claims for the fruit's ability to reduce the risk of blood pressure and stroke.

Brain Power: 200 students at a Twickenham (Middlesex) school were helped through their exams this year by eating bananas at breakfast, break, and lunch in a bid to boost their brain power. Research has shown that the potassium-packed fruit can assist learning by making pupils more alert.

Constipation: High in fiber, including bananas in the diet can help restore normal bowel action, helping to overcome the problem without resorting to laxatives.

Hangovers: One of the quickest ways of curing a hangover is to make a banana milkshake, sweetened with honey. The banana calms the stomach and, with the help of the honey, builds up depleted blood sugar levels, while the milk soothes and re-hydrates your system.

Heartburn: Bananas have a natural antacid effect in the body, so if you suffer from heartburn, try eating a banana for soothing relief.

Morning Sickness: Snacking on bananas between meals helps to keep blood sugar levels up and avoid morning sickness.

Mosquito bites: Before reaching for the insect bite cream, try rubbing the affected area with the inside of a banana skin. Many people find it amazingly successful at reducing swelling and irritation.

Nerves: Bananas are high in B vitamins that help calm the nervous system.

Overweight and at work? Studies at the Institute of Psychology in Austria found pressure at work leads to gorging on comfort food like chocolate and crisps. Looking at 5,000 hospital patients, researchers found the most obese were more likely to be in high-pressure jobs. The report concluded that, to avoid panic-induced food cravings, we need to control our blood sugar levels by snacking on high carbohydrate foods every two hours to keep levels steady.

Ulcers: The banana is used as the dietary food against intestinal disorders because of its soft texture and smoothness. It is the only raw fruit that can be eaten without distress in over-chronicler cases. It also neutralizes over-acidity and reduces irritation by coating the lining of the stomach.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD): Bananas can help SAD sufferers because they contain the natural mood enhancer, tryptophan.

Smoking: Bananas can also help people trying to give up smoking. The B6, B12 they contain, as well as the potassium and magnesium found in them, help the body recover from the effects of nicotine withdrawal.

Stress: Potassium is a vital mineral, which helps normalize the heartbeat, sends oxygen to the brain and regulates your body's water balance. When we are stressed, our metabolic rate rises, thereby reducing our potassium levels. These can be rebalanced with the help of a high-potassium banana snack.

Strokes: According to research in "The New England Journal of Medicine," eating bananas as part of a regular diet can cut the risk of death by strokes by as much as 40%!

Warts: Those keen on natural alternatives swear that if you want to kill off a wart, take a piece of banana skin and place it on the wart, with the yellow side out. Carefully hold the skin in place with a plaster or surgical tape!

So, a banana really is a natural remedy for many ills.

When you compare it to an apple, it has four times the protein, twice the carbohydrate, three times the phosphorus, five times the vitamin A and iron, and twice the other vitamins and minerals. It is also rich in potassium and is one of the best value foods around. So maybe its time to change that well-known phrase so that we say, "A banana a day keeps the doctor away!"

Big Betty said...

Chiming in fellas'

Bananas indeed are good for you!

As you guy's know, I'm a big woman.

And I once went on a banana and

coconut diet for five weeks,

I have to be honest with you,

I didn't lose any weight,

but you should've seen me climb trees!

Anonymous said...

It's the same thing in the joint. It's the same dynamic with your Norte/Sur division.

Some of us have no problem reading the "same words that have forced the division that the established power perpetuates.." That's, unless you're a Commie looking for Aztlan - the Ultimate Chicano Orgazsm.

It is what it is, dude. Don Q brings a "distinct flavor" to the table and so do you. Nobody's ragging on your slant (whether it be agrigultural or big city) and Don Q provides some LOCAL input.

If it's slanted toward the Big Blue Wrecking Crew then what can I tell you: When in Rome do as the Romans.

Keep up the good shit, Don quixote, and you too, Anonymous.

The Real anonymous

Anonymous said...

JIM

Please keep us posted on Kurt Timken.I'm still hoping one day your story will end in R.I.P. Kurt.

Anonymous said...

SAN BERNARDINO - He is slightly built, heavily armed and ready to die.
At 16, Lorence is a veteran soldier who claims West Side Verdugo. He has no sympathy for the child who was shot to death Wednesday night on a school basketball court during a friendly game of hoops.

Little Lorence sat on his BMX bike nearby, wearing a Tupac Shakur T-shirt and cocksure smirk.

"I don't know why they shot them," Lorence said. "They wasn't in gangs. They was just like pretty boys."


YOU SCRAPPA'S SOUND LIKE A BUNCH OF MAYATES."THEY WASN'T IN GANGS"
"THEY WAS JUST PRETTY BOYS"
AND WEARING TUPAC SHIRTS? WHAT'S THE WORLD COMMING TO?NEXT THING YOU KNOW THERE'S GONNA BE A BUNCH OF SRAPPA'S IN CORN ROWS.

Anonymous said...

TO?NEXT THING YOU KNOW THERE'S GONNA BE A BUNCH OF SRAPPA'S IN CORN ROWS.

Yeah, next you know, these "Srappas" will be milking cows and running naked on a tomato field! I hear you, carnal.

Anonymous said...

:)
your guys' posts continue to be a Piece of donkey smelly ass cheesy prostitute's stained shit.....

if your a chicano from ELA or well educated and dont know about Lalo's Gs.--sorry ass story, then your a real big dumb fuck....
So, we dont want to hear about his dumb ass women fucking stories anymore.....because at the end of it all, he sold himself out to the fucking white ass gingo spot in Palm Springs for top money "pinche puto pendejo y vendido" ....his worst than "Johnny Chingas" who at least didnt sell out but died with two sloppy wet fat fucking burritos in his mouth.....

On EMF..."EGG McMuffin" piece of wennie ass gang rotten smelly egg shits. No one gives a shit about those Ronald McDonald motherfuckers, cuzz everyone knows that bassett is the EMEs favorites.....end of story.
that fucking gang should just hide under a dried piece of dog shit's and disappear..........................((( proof )))!!!
If El Monte PD cant regulate them, you have issues of some lazy ass non-aggressive officers....

I see you fuckers continue to use my Walter Mercardo and Juan Gabriel bullshit titles....lol
.....I saw that Walter faggot ass Mercado on TV yesterday and seems he gots himself a new chick on his side, kinda hot but I want to see some nakedness....

Gloria Romero is a dumb bitch that dont know shit of whats cracking on the streets....that dump bitch supports you gang members, for reasons i have not investigated yet....but if i get a scratch in my culo, I will...........and I always get results....
i bet all you mofos that that slut has some type of inner family connection with some prison gang member dick head. SHe is one sorry ass bitch that needs to get booted from the political scene and office. She creates problems instead of solving them....doesn't help law enfrocement or the citizens of her community with her bullshit views. SHe needs to creat her own political party....something like "I'm A PEndeja". She's probably sucking some ex-gang member's dick or having drinks with their moms on weekends at the local bar.........kinda like Fat Ass Gloria Molina....these two dumb bitches are probably lesbian lovers too....Seems that all Las Mexicanas that start with the name Gloria...are stupid dumb political walking, dick in the mouth, whittier blvd walking sluts...
Molina is a lucky fat bitch that continues to bullshit those old ass ELA mexican grandmas to vote for her fat bind ass bitch.....but the latino community has her days fucking numbered.....that fat Smelly Torta better move on to some other political office......or die from a heatattack like Johnny Chingas...

:)

Anonymous said...

to anonyomous :), your a pissed off little puto, i think your a chicano falso or a gringo salado in drag joto. maybe your "gaydar" needs adjustment or maybe you is lalo guerreros son the mamon dancer who had his mama give him a bath until he was 20. take your estrogen puto

Anonymous said...

mr a (: juan gabriel i saw your new photo on brown pride under you other name "latino", scary for a chupon. ai tu!

Silly Sally said...

Anonymous said...
:)
your guys' posts continue to be a Piece of donkey smelly ass cheesy prostitute's stained shit.....

Well its obvious you read them, you said so pumkin darling. Even more obvious you have an anger management issue. What's "sa madder" angel? no sex? Tired of manual laboring it? Get your blood pressure checked and eat lots and lots of bananas, like Ezekiel Jenkins said!
...Blood Pressure: This unique tropical fruit is extremely high in potassium yet low in salt, making it the perfect way to beat high blood pressure. So much so, the US Food and Drug Administration has just allowed the banana industry to make official claims for the fruit's ability to reduce the risk of blood pressure and stroke.
and...

Constipation: High in fiber, including bananas in the diet can help restore normal bowel action, helping to overcome the problem without resorting to laxatives.
Amigo,
Pick up a good book and escape, or go to the golf range and hit a bucket of balls or lose weight, you'll feel good.
Remember it's not enough to feel good, you must look good like Fernando Lamas used to say!
:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

Anonymous said...

Jury in Aryan Brotherhood trial must decide whether to believe killers
GILLIAN FLACCUS
Associated Press
SANTA ANA, Calif. - Convicted murderers, gang members and jailhouse informants have paraded past jurors for nearly four months in the federal government's racketeering case against the notorious Aryan Brotherhood prison gang.
Now, with the trial about to enter its final weeks, the jury will soon have to decide who to believe: the government, whose case rests on the testimony of admitted killers, or attorneys for the white supremacists accused of plotting and ordering many of those murders from behind bars.
Even the defense team, which has chided the U.S. Attorney's Office for its reliance on jailhouse snitches, plans to present testimony this week from a gang member and other inmates in a trial peppered with tales of violence and racial strife.
Attorneys on both sides are "using and choosing from the best of the worst and it's been very interesting," said Melissa Carr, an Anti-Defamation League special projects investigator monitoring the trial.
"There were a couple instances where I caught jurors rolling their eyes and looking around for confirmation, like 'Did I just hear that? Did he say what I thought he said?'"
The trial is set to resume June 27 after a break of nearly three weeks. Closing arguments are expected early next month.
The four defendants in the case are alleged Aryan Brotherhood leaders implicated in many of the 32 murders and attempted murders detailed in the federal indictment against the white supremacist gang.
Of the 40 men initially charged, as many as 16 could face the death penalty in a series of trials that together make up one of the biggest federal death penalty cases in U.S. history.
On trial in Santa Ana are Barry "The Baron" Mills, Tyler "The Hulk" Bingham, Edgar "The Snail" Hevle and Christopher Overton Gibson. Among other things, Mills and Bingham are accused of ordering a 1997 race war at a prison in Lewisburg, Pa., that led to the deaths of two black inmates.
From the beginning, the trial testimony has been disturbing, revealing the dark, complex underworld of prison life and gang membership.
Jurors have heard graphic descriptions of dozens of murders and attempted murders, including one in which the attacker licked the dead man's blood from his hands while laughing hysterically.
Nearly all of the witnesses have been former members of the Aryan Brotherhood. In their testimony, they described elaborate gang codes, schemes to transmit messages in invisible ink made from urine, and the use of "runners" - usually inmates' female friends - who secreted knives and drugs in their rectums or genitals when they visited.
That type of testimony has led to some unusual courtroom exchanges. At one point, out of the jury's presence, a confused U.S. District Judge David O. Carter asked the attorneys to clarify the identity of their next witness by asking, "Is that the one who has a stick of dynamite up his rectum?"
The government's first witness, Clifford Smith, took the stand wearing an eye patch and casually admitted killing 21 people, including a man whom he said he stabbed 37 times for calling him a "punk" in front of his daughter.
Smith also admitted - after vigorous cross-examination by the defense - that he had perjured himself while testifying for the government in a death penalty case involving the Hells Angels.
"I would stick with the script that we had wrote and try to sell whatever we was trying to sell," Smith said after making the admission. "You caught me - what can I do?"
Experts and trial-watchers said the government had little choice about using the witnesses but wonder if the jury will buy their testimony. The U.S. Attorney's Office declined to comment for this story, citing policy.
The defense, too, plans to call inmates to refute the murder charges and paint a picture of the violent prison culture.
"I think the government's case is always going to be difficult," Carr said. "But I think that it's balanced between both sides at this point."
Defense lawyers have portrayed their clients as aging inmates who were forced to join a gang to survive. The men arrive in court each day wearing shirts with button-down collars and tortoise-shell eyeglasses. All have graying handlebar mustaches.
H. Dean Steward, the attorney for Mills, said his team will call a Crips gang member and another black inmate when the trial resumes. He also said inmates will testify that his client was wrongly convicted for the 1979 murder of a fellow prisoner. Mills is currently serving two life terms for that crime.
The black inmates are expected to tell jurors that members of the Aryan Brotherhood's rival gang, the DC Blacks, are "violent, aggressive rapists and how you really have to watch your back when you're around any of them," Steward said.
Steward acknowledged that, like the prosecution, he's taking a chance by putting convicted criminals and gang members on the stand. Still, he insisted that the defense witnesses would be believable.
"You're not going to see any white Aryan Brotherhood witnesses from us," Steward said. "The government can put up a bunch of liars all day long, but we're not going to do that."

Fucken great, now there going to put some lying niggers on the stand, to help there case, there goes the fucken neighborhood...

Anonymous said...

^Son of baboso, I was answering this post metiche - as he incorrectly wrote MIDLESS!!


Anonymous said...
THATS NOT IT PENDEJO, I JUST DON'T LIKE VATOS TRYING TO BRAINWASH ME SUCH THAT I END UP A MIDLESS TONTO LIKE YOU

2:52 PM Saturday, June 17, 2006 WASSUP thread - Post # 144.!!

So while YOU are at K-MART pick up some lentes, entiendes Mendez? oh te exlpico Federico?... and save your breath replying, you'll need it to blow up your date tonite Carmela! Now go brush your teeth and the next time you think you are going to be so clever with someone remember the proverb:
It is better to remain silent and and have people think your dumb, than to open YOUR mouth and confirm it. SISSY MAN.

ORALE! I'VE MANAGED TO GET ON SOME OTHER LOSERS NERVES! IF HE CAME WITH SOMETHING BETTER THAN CRITISIZING MY SPELLING, I MIGHT GIVE THE MASOCHIST THE WIT BEATING HE SEEKS. UNFORTUNATLEY, THIS VATO SEEMS TO DUMB FOR ME TO WASTE MY CLOWNING TALENTS ON, SO YOU VATOS LOCOS WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER DAY MY NEXT GREAT CLOWN. REMEBER THE TRUKOS POKE? I INVENTED THAT SHIT!

Anonymous said...

Homie shut the fuck up already with your gay ass shit. Damn I swear your gay vato, quit talking about touching little boys.

Anonymous said...

Dude your not even funny or witty, just stupid everyone knows you comment on your own shit, I will gurantee! You are some punk ass chump who got picked on all the time, and this blog is your only chance to act like a man and talk to other men, Ive read in books that men whole are child molesters always are very uneasy around other men, so this blog is allowing you to have some sort of identity, the trukos poke is lame its stupid it doesnt make sense, and your the only one who finds it funny, you cant clown anyone your a lame and your probably gay.

Anonymous said...

I HAVE TO DISSAPOINT YOU WANNABE PSYCHIATRISTS. SOMEONE FROM THIS BLOG TOOK MY TRUKOS POKE STORIES AND CREATED A BLOG FROM THEM. IF A VATO WANTED TO FLATTER MY WIT, HE COULDN'T DO A MORE SINCERE JOB THAN THAT. YOU TRY AND ANALIZE ME LIKE YOU KNOW SOMETHING AND THEN TRY TO PUT ME DOWN WITH YOUR ANALIZATION...IT WONT WORK BECAUSE I KNOW I DONT ANSWER MY POSTS, I KNOW PEOPLE ON THIS BLOG FIND ALOT MY POST FUNNY...HECK SAN JONERO JUST GAVE PROPS TO THE GANGSTER JOKE I MADE UP...AS FOR THE TRUKOS POKE, DONT BE A PUTO...IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MOLESTING KIDS...IT HAS TO DO WITH BEING ABLE TO SHUT SOMEONE DOWN OVER THE INTERENET...YOU SEE PENDEJO, I WASN'T TRYING TO PROMOTE ACTUAL POKING OF TRUKOS; I WAS FIGHTING FOR THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF THE BLOGGERS HERE IN MY CAMPAIGN AGAINST TRUKOS...AND TRUKOS POKING WAS THE GIMMICK TO WIN OVER SOME BLOGGERS...NOT CAUSE THEIR MOLESTERS EITHER, BUT BECAUSE THEY APPRECIATE A GOOD JOKE...AGAIN, DONT BE A PUTO!

TO WHOMEVER POSTED THAT STORY ON LA COUNTY JAIL...GRACIAS FOR THE GOOD READ

Anonymous said...

Anybody know what's the going on in NY? I've been seeing a lot of Cholos running around lately. Cholos are very, very rare out here, so there's obviously something up. I can only assume they're MS 13, but they look Chicano... Anybody?

SILLY SALLY said...

First there was...
1. Anonymous said...
So, running around Manhattan over the weekend (I live in NYC but I'm originally from L.A.) and I found a Mexican restaurant called Florencia 13. It's SoCal style food and the interiors are decked out in Chicano art and what not. The food's named after L.A. neighborhoods, etc. and their logo is a caracture of a cholo. There were also prison style photos of veteranos, but the caption only said "southsiders."

I stopped by and had a couple of drinks and asked some questions. Mainly, I wanted to know if it was owned by Chicanos (there are maybe a hundred or so Chicanos in NY) and are they really from L.A. One of the owners talked for me for a minute and said that they all are from L.A. and they moved to NY specifically to open up the restaurant. I was also told that the owner used to be the president of Nosotros.... My question is this: What the fuck is going on? Why is there a restaurant in NY that's named after a gang in L.A. that's run by a supposed "president" of Nosotros? Sounds like it may be a front. I was also intrigued by the fact that they said that they moved to NY to open the restaurant, but why? Why didn't they open it in L.A.? The whole things seems a little off. Does anybody know any background info on Florencia 13? Can anyone shed a little light here?

Now you ask...
2. Anonymous said... Anybody know what's the going on in NY? I've been seeing a lot of Cholos running around lately. Cholos are very, very rare out here, so there's obviously something up. I can only assume they're MS 13, but they look Chicano... Anybody?

TRY THE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE, INQUIRING MIND. HEY BETTER YET - TRY ASKING ONE OF THEM PENDEJO.

R2K said...

Im glad you dont read the racist or stupid posts. The idea that you are a gangsta and use blogs is obsurd. OGs dont blog; so stop acting like it. Or ill bust a cap in yo eye.

trukos said...

Got this off court tv site.


:Aryan Brotherhood prison gang trial entering final weeks
SANTA ANA, Calif. (AP) — Convicted murderers, gang members and jailhouse informants have paraded past jurors for nearly four months in the federal government's racketeering case against the notorious Aryan Brotherhood prison gang.

Now, with the trial about to enter its final weeks, the jury will soon have to decide who to believe: the government, whose case rests on the testimony of admitted killers, or attorneys for the white supremacists accused of plotting and ordering many of those murders from behind bars.

Even the defense team, which has chided the U.S. Attorney's Office for its reliance on jailhouse snitches, plans to present testimony this week from a rival gang member and other inmates in a trial peppered with tales of violence and racial strife.

Attorneys on both sides are "using and choosing from the best of the worst," said Melissa Carr, an Anti-Defamation League special projects investigator monitoring the trial.

"There were a couple instances where I caught jurors rolling their eyes and looking around for confirmation, like 'Did I just hear that? Did he say what I thought he said?'"

Story continues



The trial is set to resume Tuesday after a break of nearly three weeks. Closing arguments are expected early next month.

The four defendants are alleged Aryan Brotherhood leaders implicated in many of the 32 murders and attempted murders detailed in the federal indictment against the white supremacist gang.

Of the 40 men initially charged, as many as 16 could face the death penalty in a series of trials that together make up one of the biggest federal death penalty cases in U.S. history.

On trial in Santa Ana are Barry "The Baron" Mills, Tyler "The Hulk" Bingham, Edgar "The Snail" Hevle and Christopher Overton Gibson. Among other things, Mills and Bingham are accused of ordering a 1997 race war at a prison in Lewisburg, Pa., that led to the deaths of two black inmates.

From the beginning, the testimony has been disturbing.

Jurors have heard graphic descriptions of dozens of murders and attempted murders, including one in which the attacker licked the dead man's blood from his hands while laughing hysterically.

Nearly all of the witnesses have been former members of the Aryan Brotherhood. In their testimony, they described schemes to transmit messages in invisible ink made from urine and the use of "runners" -- usually inmates' female friends -- who hid knives and drugs in their rectums or genitals when they visited.

The government's first witness, Clifford Smith, took the stand wearing an eye patch and casually admitted killing 21 people, including a man whom he said he stabbed 37 times for calling him a "punk" in front of his daughter.

Smith also admitted -- under vigorous cross-examination by the defense -- that he had perjured himself while testifying for the government in a death penalty case involving the Hells Angels.

"I would stick with the script that we had wrote and try to sell whatever we was trying to sell," Smith said. "You caught me -- what can I do?"

Trial-watchers said the government had little choice about using the witnesses but wonder if the jury will buy their testimony. The U.S. Attorney's Office declined to comment.

Defense lawyers have portrayed their clients as aging inmates who were forced to join a gang to survive. The men arrive in court each day wearing tortoise-shell eyeglasses and shirts with button-down collars. All have graying handlebar mustaches.

P.S. I dropped the lil off my name since I just graduated, one more month then back home

the reverend? jesse jackson said...

alex said...
Im glad you dont read the racist or stupid posts. The idea that you are a gangsta and use blogs is obsurd. OGs dont blog; so stop acting like it. Or ill bust a cap in yo eye.

alex go help an old lady to cross the street please, or we'll cap you in your black spincter.

Anonymous said...

what the hell is a "spincter"? And why is alex's black? I thought he was the Rockerteer from NY.. But maybe he DOES know where the hell that cholo restaurant is and whether the food's any good. And maybe he could post a pic of their bathroom. I wonder if it has a condom dispenser? I wonder if the waitresses are cholitas, and they're as ugly as those MS 13 bitches? Those are some fuggin buffaloes, man!! Central America has dealt with poor sanitation and potable water quality forever, and the bacterialogical results are beginning to surface on the mugs of those fuggin MS 13 skanks! They got carbunckles growin on their mugs that look like fuggin goiters, man.. You know if she pops that sucka it's gonna put pus on the walls, man.. And their breath could make a rabid pit bull release and lay down like a cocker spaniel.. Just my $.o2..........

SURPRISE said...

OK Wallista's were up again, start hitting those keys!

were up again! said...

Don Quixote said...
Que te pasa Wally?
Maybe Gava Joe hit the nail on the head and "big brother" is watching us at "Wallytown" and needs to figure out "Whats going on" (Marvin Gay's insightful take), and to all you Camarada's I'd like to post up a story about a beautiful hermano who had it all together over a hundred years ago and who's influence is still felt even though his works have been censored and shoved into the dust bin of history.
I once read the account of "Flores Magon's" death in "Leavenworth Federal Prison" due to beatings and mistreatment by the bulls, written by a fellow "anarchist" and Gavacho named "Eastman" who wrote of the "Mexican" who never gave an inch or retracted statements or became an snitch or informed on his allies even though starved beaten, kept in solitary for years. After "Flores Magon" died from the mistreatment (and US authorities claimed he died from Tuberculosis), Eastman overheard the joint bulls saying shit like "fuck that Mexican! he aint so tough now"
But what a surprise they had when the Mexicans body was taken back to be buried and millions of his countrymen and compatriots hailed him as a true international hero!
Flores Magon's history is still relative to our situation today and his close ties to Mexico, Los Angeles, El Paso, and his perception and ability to cut through the massive bullshit and confusion of his time has real relevance to our contemporary situation.
Ten Cuidado!

INSIDE MODERN MEXICO the name of Ricardo Flores Magon is well known, and is regarded in a somewhat similar way to that of James Connolly in Ireland. But outside Mexico few have heard of him. Born to a poor family in 1873, he became a journalist on the opposition paper 'El Demócrata' after finishing school. In 1900, along with his brother Jesús, he founded "Regeneración', a radical paper opposed to the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz.

After release from a second prison sentence arising from his campaigning journalism, he moved across the border to the USA. Despite continual persecution and imprisonment by the U.S. authorities, at the instigation of the Mexican dictatorship - who had put a price of $20,000 on his head after he wouldn't be bought off with the offer of a place in the government - he would not be silenced.

In 1905 Magon founded the Mexican Liberal Party, a reformist organisation opposed to the excesses of the regime, which organised two unsuccessful uprisings against Diaz in 1906 and 1908. During his early years of exile he became acquainted with the legendary anarchist Emma Goldman, and it was partly through her that he moved from reformism to become an anarchist.

With the outbreak of the revolution of 1910, the revolution that he and the PLM more than any other group or person, had paved the way for, Magon devoted the rest of his life to the anarchist cause. Through the influence of his ideas large areas of land were expropriated by the peasants and worked in common by them under the banner of 'Land and Liberty', the motto of the PLM. This motto was later adopted by Emiliano Zapata, whose legacy inspires the EZLN rebels of Southern Mexico today.

As the revolution began on November 20th 1910, Magon summed up the aims of PLM "The Liberal Party works for the welfare of the poor classes of the Mexican people. It does not impose a candidate (in the presidential election), because it will be up to the will of the people to settle the question. Does the people want a master? Well let them elect one. All the Liberal Party desires is to effect a change in the mind of the toiling people so that every man and woman should know that no one has the right to exploit anybody."

A fortnight later he explained the difference between the PLM and other opposition movements: "Governments have to protect the right of property above all other rights. Do not expect then, that Madero will attack the right of property in favour of the working class. Open your eyes. Remember a phrase, simple and true and as truth indestructible, the emancipation of the workers must be the work of the workers themselves".

By January PLM forces were fighting in six of Mexico's states. Major towns, as well as rural areas, were liberated by the anarchists. In March a peasant army led by Zapata, and influenced by the Magonistas of the PLM, rose up in Morelos. By now the nationalist opposition of Madero had turned some of its guns away from the troops of Diaz and begun to attack the anarchists of the PLM.

In April the PLM issued a manifesto to "the members of the party, to the anarchists of the world and the workers in general". Vast quantities were produced in Spanish and English to explain their attitude to the revolution. "The Mexican Liberal Party is not fighting to destroy the dictator Porfirio Diaz in order to put in his place a new tyrant. The PLM is taking part in the actual insurrection with the deliberate and firm purpose of expropriating the land and the means of production and handing them over to the people, that is, each and every one of the inhabitants of Mexico without distinction of sex. This act we consider essential to open the gates for the effective emancipation of the Mexican people."

In massively illiterate Mexico, where many villages had only a handful of people able to read, the circulation of "Regeneración" had reached 27,000 a week. When Tijuana was liberated in May, most of Baja California came under PLM influence. They issued a manifesto "Take possession of the land...make a free and happy life without masters or tyrants".

That month saw Madero sign a peace treaty with Diaz and take over as President of Mexico. Military attacks on the PLM increased, and towns were retaken by government troops. Prisoners were murdered by the new regime, sometimes after being made to dig their own graves. At a meeting in Los Angeles, Magon was asked to accept the treaty but replied "...until the land was distributed to the peasants and the instruments of production were in the hands of the workers, the liberals would never lay down their arms".

Along with many leading PLM organisers, Magon was arrested (again) by the US authorities. The rebels were slandered as "bandits" and repression in both Mexico and the US reached new heights. Despite the setbacks caused by their relatively small size in a gigantic country, the attacks they suffered from the armies of two countries, and the terrible revenge exacted by the rich and their agents... new uprisings broke out in Senora, Durango and Coahuila.

Such was the support for their ideas, that even the conservative British TUC felt obliged to invite Honore Jaxon, Treasurer and European representative of the PLM, to address their 1911 conference. One solidarity action especially worth mentioning was the 24 hour strike by two army units in Portugal protesting against the arrest of PLM militants by the US government.

A new manifesto, emphasising their anarchism, was issued in September: "The same effort and the same sacrifices that are required to raise to power a governor - that is to say a tyrant - will achieve the expropriation of the fortunes the rich keep from you. It is for you, then, to choose. Either a new governor - that is to say a new yoke - or life redeeming expropriation and the abolition of all imposition, religious, political or any other kind".

PLM and Zapatista rebellions continued until 1919, but their numbers and inadequate arms were not sufficient to defeat the state forces. However all was not in vain. In 1922 the anarchist CGT trade union was founded in Mexico city, and today the rebellion in the state of Chiapas can be seen as, partly at least, a continuation of Magon's struggle.

During the years of struggle Magon opposed and fought successive so-called "revolutionary regimes," resisting both the old and new dictatorships with equal vigour. Imprisoned by the U.S. authorities in 1905, 1907, and 1912 he was finally sentenced to 20 years under the espionage laws in 1918. He died, apparently after suffering beatings, in Leavenworth Prison, Kansas, on November 22, 1922.

When his body was brought back across the border, every town where the cortege stopped was decked out in the red and black flags of anarchism. In Mexico city 10,000 working people escorted his body to Panteon Frances where it is buried. A flame had been lit that will not burn out until liberty becomes a living reality.

Anonymous said...

Testing - Sunday July 2, 7:36 A.M.

Anonymous said...

Test 7/2/2006 8:50 AM.

O C Half Breed said...

Damn what was going on with this site, it wasn't up for a couple of days. Saturday's L.A Times front page has a big story on a shooting, 3 dead, 2 are young kids, all hispanic and the gunman was black.

Gava Joe said...

WELL! We got sprung! 7 days in the hole for some minor infraction. Shoulda been a 128, but the blog Captain had to bounce it to a 115, and we all got a taste of Solitary - Ha! Welcome back all you rebel-rousers.. Now remember, only post the puro pedo or we might get beefed again, and w/a prior? Well who knows? Ah! I see we've finally joined the ranks of the censored. I was fixin to check-out and see we now have a moderator..But then, what the hey, it's his blog. It HAD to happen you know? Anarchy did'nt work for that vato in Don Q's post and it did'nt work here..

JIM said...

Black-Latino Relations
By Tanya Hernandez May 30, 2006

In a 2004 book entitled “The Presumed Alliance: The Unspoken Conflict Between Latinos and Black and What it Means for America,” Harvard Law School graduate Nicolás Vaca, asserts that Latinos in the United States have long had an acrimonious relationship with African-Americans. He further states that because Latinos are now the largest racial minority in the nation with no responsibility for the plight of African-Americans, that the status of inter-ethnic race relations will change to reflect a dominance by Latinos at the expense of African-Americans. Whether or not Vaca’s predictions are prescient, they have received a public attention that warrants closer attention because of the way they play into a public discourse that has consistently presented African-Americans as the sole cause of discord in “Black-Latino relations.”
To be specific, over the last four decades when the topic of Black-Latino relations has been broached, the discourse has often centered on just a few primary issues. These issues have repeatedly been: African-American fears of being displaced in the labor market by Latinos, African-American disenchantment with having the benefits of the civil rights movement extended to Latinos, African-American concern with the increased immigration of Latinos, African-American discontent with the growth of Spanish language usage in the United States, and African-American concern with the fear that bilingual education services divert resources from under-financed public schools in African-American areas. Similarly, discussions about the demographic explosion of Latinos and their desire to assume greater political clout has focused upon the presumed obstructionism and discontent of African-Americans who must “relinquish” their power to accommodate Latinos.
Absent from this list of favorite themes in the public discourse in the English and Spanish language media regarding the challenges to organizing Black-Latino coalitions, is any discussion of Latino agency. In fact, one is left with the simplistic impression that Latinos are the parties extending their friendship in solidarity, only to be consistently rebuffed by African-Americans. Black-Latino political turf wars in Dallas, Texas over the selection of a school superintendent in 1997, in Miami, Florida, over the 1996 mayoral election, and in Chicago, Illinois over the allocation of public housing units in 1994, have all been depicted as zero sum struggles to gain Latino political power by wrenching it away from the begrudging hands of African-Americans. Yet upon closer examination, the reality is much more complex and reveals Latinos to be agents of bias and racism themselves. (See Palgrave Macmillan press 2005 book “Neither Enemies Nor Friends: Latinos, Blacks, Afro-Latinos”).
The sociological concept of “social distance” measures the social unease one ethnic or racial group has for interacting with another ethnic or racial group. Social science studies of Latino racial attitudes often indicate a preference for maintaining social distance from African-Americans. And while the social distance level is largest for recent Latin American immigrants, more established communities of Latinos in the United States are also characterized by their social distance from African-Americans. For instance, in a 2002 survey of Latinos and African-Americans, the African-Americans had more positive views of Latinos than vice versa (See “Black-Brown Relations and Stereotypes,” by Tatcho Mindiola, Jr., et al. UT press 2002). This same study found that 46 percent of Latino immigrants who live in residential neighborhoods with African-Americans report almost no interaction with them whatsoever. The social distance of Latinos from African-Americans is consistently reflected in Latino responses to other surveys.
Similarly, in a 1993 study of inter-group relations, Latinos overwhelming responded that they had most in common with Whites and least in common with African-Americans (The National Conference Survey on Inter-Group Relations). In contrast, African-Americans responded that they felt they had more in common with Latinos and least in common with Whites and Asian Americans. It is somewhat ironic that African-Americans who are publicly depicted as being adverse to coalition building with Latinos, demonstrate survey responses that are more in accord with all the socioeconomic data that demonstrates the commonality of African-American and Latino communities. While Latinos, in contradistinction provide survey responses that fly in the face of all the socioeconomic data demonstrating African-American and Latino parallels. The Latino affinity for Whites over African-Americans is part and parcel of the Latino identification with whiteness. (See BlackProf entry of May 3, 2006, “Is There Racism in Latin America and What Does That Mean for Race Relations in the United States?”). Indeed, in contrast to the many reports of a Latino preference for mixed-race census racial categories, there is a strong Latino preference for the White racial category and some Latino groups like Cubans disproportionately select the White racial category (See “Bleach in the Rainbow: Latin Ethnicity and the Preference for Whiteness” by William A. Darity, Jr., et al., at http://www.cpc.unc.edu/people/cv/darity.pdf).
In short, the public discourse about relations between African-Americans and Latinos is problematic because it over-simplistic and factually skewed. The changing demographics of the nation requires that we expand the analysis of racism to include considerations of how groups of color can be complicit and even active agents in the discrimination against other groups of color. But to be a useful tool against discrimination, the examination of racism amongst groups of color cannot be unidirectional and focused on just one group.

Posted by Tanya Hernandez May 30, 2006

Anonymous said...

"TRY THE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE, INQUIRING MIND. HEY BETTER YET - TRY ASKING ONE OF THEM PENDEJO."

You're a fucking idiot.

bigchino said...

Wally, what's up with more info on the new indictments? And why was the comments section for this post blank for several days?

Anonymous said...

Testing. Is this thing on?

Anonymous said...

good for you wally, mr. a, mr. anonymous, :), retired joker, et al are all "Latino" from "Brown Pride" and he is envious of your great blog spot and never adds anything except his crappy crap.

Anonymous said...

So now you've got the comments under the microscpoe, cool some shit does't need to be seen or read.
But i hope that you'll still allow some debate between the adversaries
that have grown to be good ol' comic relif, ok.
So what's new? you've censered us ok now give us something in retuen.

don quixote said...

Funny how small a world we live in and I sometimes wonder if there is really such a thing as a coincidence. Jim posted up some great old "Pachuco Rolas" and I commented on one of the artist's, "Lalo Guerrero" and his influence on my family and all of LA and "Chicanodom" including the mention of his "Gay Son" who Lalo sent away to New York where he became a dancer.
Que wierd! I am reading the LA Times Calender section and there before me is the same gay son of Lalo. He's doing a performance at the LA "Center Theater Group" written and performed by himself, "Dan Guerrero" called of all things, "Gaytino!" "a look back at his eclectic life from East LA to NY's Great White Way"
Quien Sabe?
Lalo might be rolling over in his grave, but the title is somewhat misleading as Lalo's Son grew up in the middle class city of "Monterrey Park" not East LA.
It seems that many middle class Mexican AMericans when adults claim they came from the East side of LA or some other varrio when in reality they grew up in places like Montebello, or Glendale or Monterrey Park. Oh well, never to late to become hard core I guess.

Anonymous said...

Wallace que chingados ese?
How do you use this new system of yours?
And did you change up, nothing good lasts forever simon, but hey ese lets not let a good thing go down the drain.
Come on now explain how to use it.

Anonymous said...

You're using it ese. No explanation necessary. It seems all our panic over losing that "good thing" was for nothing. Probably the best hint is to merely look for whatever post invites you to comment and put your 2cents right there. I'm thinking that the "wrinkles" will smooth out in time and we'll all navigate just fine..

Ezekiel Jenkins said...

Avenues trial provides a view of gang violence

By John Spano
Los Angeles Times
Jul. 4, 2006 12:00 AM
LOS ANGELES -- Jose Cruz is a walking testament to what happens when a member turns against the Avenues street gang.

He has 30 scars from the stab wounds he suffered in one attempt on his life -- on his arms, torso and legs.

In another attack, he was beaten so severely that he has a visible dent in his skull, according to court papers, "the size and shape of a pistol butt."

The street gang that he served goes back five generations in Highland Park, which for Cruz is five miles and several lifetimes from the downtown courtroom where he is scheduled to testify as the star witness for the prosecution in the trial of a group of childhood friends.

Federal prosecutors, who launched their case last week, contend that the Avenues gang between 1994 and 2000 conspired to exterminate blacks on their turf. Men, rival gang members, women and children were harassed, terrorized, assaulted and murdered as gang members sought to cleanse their Hispanic neighborhoods of new black residents, prosecutors said.

Authorities are using a federal hate-crime law based on the amendment to the U.S. Constitution that outlawed slavery, and another law created in the modern civil rights era, to go after four gang members. Barbara Bernstein, Deputy Chief of the Criminal Section of the civil rights divisions of the U.S. Department of Justice in Washington, is part of the prosecution team.

Attorneys for the defendants -- Gilbert Saldana, Alejandro Martinez, Fernando Cazares and Porfirio Avila -- have asserted that the federal government has no power to involve itself in a common street crime. Defense attorney Reuven L. Cohen told jurors last week that one of the murders cited in the charges -- the 1999 shooting of Kenneth Wilson -- was not a hate crime but "a simple gang killing committed out of boredom."

Cohen said the crimes sprang from the "sad" truth of "a tension that exists between African American gangs and Latino gangs."

The first of three former gang members, each in custody and seeking help from authorities, testified Monday. Jesse Diaz, who described himself as a tagger from age 12, told jurors the Avenues decided to fight the "infestation" of blacks in Highland Park with a systematic terror campaign designed to run them out of the neighborhood.

Diaz, who has 10 more years to serve in prison for attempted murder, said the Avenues hated all rival gangs. But the antipathy for blacks was different, he said.

Highland Park became the scene of a perverse game in which Diaz's group of Avenues actually competed with another "clique" to run the most blacks out of Highland Park, he testified.

Two other informants, one serving long state prison term and the other a deported alien, will tell jurors that Saldana shot Wilson repeatedly in 1999, explaining that he had just acquired a gun and "wanted to test it out."

One told the FBI in interviews that the gang got an order in 1998 from the Mexican Mafia prison gang to "kill any blacks ... on sight."

Defense attorney Cohen said Diaz and the two other former gang members are lying to curry favor with prosecutors and "make the D.A. pick you or spend the rest of your life in jail."

Saldana and Avila are in prison for murder for life without the possibility of parole. Cazares is in custody on a parole violation. Martinez' custody status could not be determined.

Rick Ortiz, a Los Angeles police spokesman, called the Avenues a "bully" gang that uses its size to intimidate.

"The Avenues have been around for a long time," Ortiz said. "They are the largest gang in the northeast area with over 500 documented, active members."

Although gang members have been subject to a court order for years limiting their activities, they remain active, authorities said.

Their racial antipathy is an outgrowth of prison, where rival street gang members band together by race and then bring those attitudes back to the streets, Ortiz said.

"When you have gang members standing out on the street corners, they intimidate people," Ortiz said. "They may commit a minor offense, like vandalism, but people are so afraid of them they won't call in. It diminishes the quality of life in the community."

Heinrich Keifer, president of the Historic Highland Park Neighborhood Council, said racial violence by gang members is not currently a problem in the neighborhood.

"Our biggest problem is not so much gangs, although some members of the community are intimidated. It's more the taggers," Keifer said. "They create that feeling that the community is destroyed. The gangs aren't ruling the turf. They're not necessarily muscling people out. There was some of that in the past.

"The area is on the rebound ..." Keifer said. "Many of the poorer people are struggling with the rising rents."

Prosecutors say the gang members conspired in various acts of violence, including:

-- Wilson's 1999 killing, which occurred when he returned to his Avenue 52 home late at night after a party, his nephew, Duane Williams, testified Thursday. Wilson was shot repeatedly by Saldana and two others because of his race, Assistant U.S. Attorney Alex Bustamante told jurors.

-- Diaz testified that gang members beat a black, homeless man with metal weapons, and attacked a black man speaking on a pay telephone from behind and seriously beat him. Another black man was assaulted on the street because he was walking with a Hispanic woman, according to Bustamante.

-- Finally, authorities say they have linked the killings of two other men to the Avenues, partly through ballistics. The victims were Christopher Bauser,who was shot execution-style at a bus stop in 2000, and Anthony Prudomme, also killed on a street.

Ezekiel Jenkins said...

Many blacks in Los Angeles have watched resentfully as Latinos...

Posted on Sun, Jul. 02, 2006
Labor union attempts to organize security guards
Some fear effort will backfire on blacks
Washington Post
LOS ANGELES - Eric Lee delivered a rousing speech to union organizers gathered from around the country at a black church in south central Los Angeles. They whooped and cheered and then hit the streets, launching a campaign by the nation's largest labor union to organize Los Angeles's security guards, most of whom are black.

Despite the upbeat words, Lee, chief operating officer for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference of Greater Los Angeles, has real concerns about the union effort. Not that it would fail, but that it would succeed. Lee and other black leaders are worried that a strong union could backfire, pushing black workers out of an employment sector they dominate.

It would not be the first time. The ranks of this city's hotel workers and janitors were once mostly black, but their standing was undercut by waves of immigration and lower-paid workers.

As more Latinos were hired in nonunion hotel and janitorial jobs, the union all but disappeared, leaving today's labor officials with bitter memories of the 1980s. In the 1990s, the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) reorganized the city's janitors, but by then, the work force was mostly Latino.

Many blacks in Los Angeles have watched resentfully as Latinos replaced them not only in low-wage jobs, but also in many traditionally black neighborhoods. Simmering tensions between the two groups occasionally boil over in school shootings, jail violence and hate crimes.

Among security guards today, Lee said, "the underlying feeling is, we need (a union), we want it, and when is it going to happen." Still, he said, "Some say, 'Why should we do this?' because of what happened to the hotel workers and janitors."

Last week, the SEIU launched a campaign to collect pro-union signatures from 3,500 of 6,000 private security officers who guard Los Angeles buildings. The union estimates that nearly 70 percent of the officers are black.

Anonymous said...

Why do'nt you guys who post all these long-winded copies just use the new "create a link" feature and spare us all the scrolling through what can be boring shit? Thanks. Though I'm sure you wo'nt comply because your egos wo'nt let you..

Anonymous said...

No buey Jose.

s said...

SUR 13!!!