Covering riot: follow the smoke

Originally published in the May 6, 1992 edition of the Collegian, the campus newspaper for Los Angeles City College. 

By Thomas K. Pendergast

My car has a flat, I'm broke and I've got to cover the biggest riot in the history of Los Angeles. What do I do? 

Solution: follow the smoke.

Walking down the street from my house I can see columns of smoke rising from several places, so I head toward the one that looks the closest, which happens to be the one directly in front of me. 

As I approach the intersection of Vermont Avenue and First Street, I see three young African American men running toward me waving golf clubs and screaming "burn! Burn! Burn!" Their heads are covered with shiny black cloths, which are wrapped around the faces of two of them, giving them the appearance of Ninja gangsters. The other face is showing fury controlled by intelligence, and his eyes come to rest on me -- I'm the only white face around. 

"What's up?" he asks. 

"Hey," I say, returning his greeting, not letting my face show any emotion or my eyes waver from his gaze. His face then registers a decision, and he runs past me. I observe a flare gun in the hand of his friend while I watch them continue down the street.

The City of Angels has come face to face with chaos, and found it ugly. Yet, for many in the city who feel deprived of justice and abandoned by those who shape our society, it's the only face that offers any comfort. This riot has blown a lot of myths that anchor our concept of civilization wide open, and given us all a firsthand view of the social volcano that has laid dormant for so long.

"I watched it from gavel to gavel on Channel 11," Frank Sprague is telling me, referring to the trial while we're watching firefighters struggling to gain a foothold against a blaze engulfing a mini-mall.

"Thousands of people across the country reacted the way I did. The judicial system has collapsed," says the elderly white resident of nearby Berendo Street in exasperation. He then spends about 10 minutes explaining to me that nothing the defense lawyers said was persuasive enough to convince him that what he saw on the tape was in any way justified. 

Now another man is telling me about an incident he saw less than an hour ago near USC. It seems that a reporter with some very expensive equipment got it snatched away from him by some youths. As the reporter chased them down the street he was heard screaming "just leave me the film! Please, just leave me the film!"

I make it as far south as Third Street, when I decide to turn west because I can see something is happening down there. Though I can also hear an automatic weapon firing from somewhere around the crowd I'm heading toward, I'm surprised at myself that I'm not afraid. On the contrary, the excitement of the situation and the adrenalin jetting through my system is compelling me forward so I start to run. 

It's a supermarket and it's being looted. I rush inside with the rest, stand up on the counter that used to support a cash register and begin shooting pictures as fast as I can. One guy says to me "hey, go get yourself something! It's the end of the world!" 

Everyone is slipping and sliding on the liquid debris as they push their loaded shopping carts past the check-out counters, setting off the shoplifting alarms, which are creating a constant din. Their flashing bulbs remind me of a string of Christmas lights with sound effects. 

I walk over to a fire engine that's putting the finishing touches on a fire before heading to the next one and I talk with firefighter Jerry Moore of Engine Company 81, which is stationed in Agua Dulce, off Highway 14 near the Antelope Valley. He tells me he's been up since 4:30 a.m., arrived in Los Angeles at six, waited to be dispatched until noon and has been putting out fires ever since. (It was about six in the evening by this time.)

He also tells me he fought the Watts riot fires and, in his opinion, this riot is worse. "The Watts riots were confined to one area," says Moore. "This is all over and non-stop."

It takes me about three hours to make my way up to Hollywood Boulevard and it's well past Mayor Bradley's curfew when I interview an LAPD officer guarding the boulevard. After I show him my City College photo department ID from last semester, he tells me his name is Roy Hightower. Curious about the view of an African American member of the LAPD, I ask him what he thinks about the Simi Valley jury's verdict, but he refuses to comment. However, he does tell me "what I think about that is not going to affect the job I do." 

Then I ask him what he thinks of all the rioting, to which he responds "what is there to think? Burning down people's buildings and stealing people's stuff is wrong. That's the way I look at it. In this job you have to simplify everything."

As we watch a fireman dousing the flames of a building that housed a swapmeet, I hear a woman next to me say "there goes LA. It looks like we'll just have to tear the whole thing down and start all over again."

Her voice doesn't sound angry or aggresive, just matter-of-fact. I turn to ask her where she's from but she's already walking away, and she looks like she's in a hurry to get somewhere.

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Originally published in the May 6, 1992 edition of the Collegian, the campus newspaper for Los Angeles City College. 

By Thomas K. Pendergast

My car has a flat, I'm broke and I've got to cover the biggest riot in the history of Los Angeles. What do I do? 

Solution: follow the smoke.

Walking down the street from my house I can see columns of smoke rising from several places, so I head toward the one that looks the closest, which happens to be the one directly in front of me. 

As I approach the intersection of Vermont Avenue and First Street, I see three young African American men running toward me waving golf clubs and screaming "burn! Burn! Burn!" Their heads are covered with shiny black cloths, which are wrapped around the faces of two of them, giving them the appearance of Ninja gangsters. The other face is showing fury controlled by intelligence, and his eyes come to rest on me -- I'm the only white face around. 

"What's up?" he asks. 

"Hey," I say, returning his greeting, not letting my face show any emotion or my eyes waver from his gaze. His face then registers a decision, and he runs past me. I observe a flare gun in the hand of his friend while I watch them continue down the street.

The City of Angels has come face to face with chaos, and found it ugly. Yet, for many in the city who feel deprived of justice and abandoned by those who shape our society, it's the only face that offers any comfort. This riot has blown a lot of myths that anchor our concept of civilization wide open, and given us all a firsthand view of the social volcano that has laid dormant for so long.

"I watched it from gavel to gavel on Channel 11," Frank Sprague is telling me, referring to the trial while we're watching firefighters struggling to gain a foothold against a blaze engulfing a mini-mall.

"Thousands of people across the country reacted the way I did. The judicial system has collapsed," says the elderly white resident of nearby Berendo Street in exasperation. He then spends about 10 minutes explaining to me that nothing the defense lawyers said was persuasive enough to convince him that what he saw on the tape was in any way justified. 

Now another man is telling me about an incident he saw less than an hour ago near USC. It seems that a reporter with some very expensive equipment got it snatched away from him by some youths. As the reporter chased them down the street he was heard screaming "just leave me the film! Please, just leave me the film!"

I make it as far south as Third Street, when I decide to turn west because I can see something is happening down there. Though I can also hear an automatic weapon firing from somewhere around the crowd I'm heading toward, I'm surprised at myself that I'm not afraid. On the contrary, the excitement of the situation and the adrenalin jetting through my system is compelling me forward so I start to run. 

It's a supermarket and it's being looted. I rush inside with the rest, stand up on the counter that used to support a cash register and begin shooting pictures as fast as I can. One guy says to me "hey, go get yourself something! It's the end of the world!" 

Everyone is slipping and sliding on the liquid debris as they push their loaded shopping carts past the check-out counters, setting off the shoplifting alarms, which are creating a constant din. Their flashing bulbs remind me of a string of Christmas lights with sound effects. 

I walk over to a fire engine that's putting the finishing touches on a fire before heading to the next one and I talk with firefighter Jerry Moore of Engine Company 81, which is stationed in Agua Dulce, off Highway 14 near the Antelope Valley. He tells me he's been up since 4:30 a.m., arrived in Los Angeles at six, waited to be dispatched until noon and has been putting out fires ever since. (It was about six in the evening by this time.)

He also tells me he fought the Watts riot fires and, in his opinion, this riot is worse. "The Watts riots were confined to one area," says Moore. "This is all over and non-stop."

It takes me about three hours to make my way up to Hollywood Boulevard and it's well past Mayor Bradley's curfew when I interview an LAPD officer guarding the boulevard. After I show him my City College photo department ID from last semester, he tells me his name is Roy Hightower. Curious about the view of an African American member of the LAPD, I ask him what he thinks about the Simi Valley jury's verdict, but he refuses to comment. However, he does tell me "what I think about that is not going to affect the job I do." 

Then I ask him what he thinks of all the rioting, to which he responds "what is there to think? Burning down people's buildings and stealing people's stuff is wrong. That's the way I look at it. In this job you have to simplify everything."

As we watch a fireman dousing the flames of a building that housed a swapmeet, I hear a woman next to me say "there goes LA. It looks like we'll just have to tear the whole thing down and start all over again."

Her voice doesn't sound angry or aggresive, just matter-of-fact. I turn to ask her where she's from but she's already walking away, and she looks like she's in a hurry to get somewhere.

Back to main page --->>>