THERE’S A LOT of interesting news coming up this week. On Tuesday the LAUSD school board will decided what to do about all the high drama of the Green Dot/Locke High School charter petition. And today I’m researching an intriguing new crime and punishment story.
BUT BEFORE WE LEAP INTO MORE TOPICAL NEWS, I’d like to tell you a quick story about death, sorrow, violence and redemption.
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Like most people who teach college classes, each quarter I’m asked to write a string of recommendations—some for students wanting to get into graduate school, others for kids applying for internships. And because of my gang reporting, I’m also sometimes asked to write another kind of recommendation having to do with the criminal justice system. For instance, when some of the young men I know are arrested and convicted of crimes, I am occasionally asked to write letters that act as character references during the sentencing phases of their trials. (The idea is to remind the weary judge that guy before him is more than the worst thing he ever did.)
And then yesterday, I wrote a letter of support for a former gang member named Alex who is trying to get off parole.
I first got to know Alex just a little before he turned sixteen. His older brother Mike, was not in a gang. Nor was their baby brother Joseph, 13, who was getting ready to graduate from the 8th grade. But Alex was the edgiest kid of the three and he joined a gang that claimed territory in the Pico-Aliso housing projects of Boyle Heights. It was called The Mob Crew—TMC for short. Alex was mostly a fringe member in the beginning. But all that changed a few days after a fatal shooting between TMC and Cuatro Flats—another Pico-Also gang that claimed its territory a few blocks away from where Alex and his family lived.
Anticipating retaliation toward any and all TMCs, Alex’s mother, Bernie, tried to get her three boys to stay inside the apartment for a few days until things cooled down. But, by day two, Joseph, the youngest, was stir crazy and so, when he spotted a cute stray dog on the sidewalk nearby, he ran out a few feet from the apartment door to try to retrieve it. Alex ran out after him intending to yank him back.
It was too late. As bad luck would have it, at that moment, there were “enemy” gang members cruising the projects searching for TMCs. They spotted Joseph. And mistaking him for Alex, shot him. He died in his brother’s arms—and was buried in the suit that his godmother bought him to wear for his 8th grade graduation.
At the funeral, I remember Alex didn’t cry for most of the service. But then when the casket was opened, he drew in breath, then collapsed with a terrible, bone rattling, primal howl of grief…..and guilt.
All of us who heard it were instantly afraid for him.
Matters were made worse by the homicide detective investigating the murder who, when Alex said he never saw the face of Joseph’s killer, didn’t believe him, so tried to shock him into blurting the name by making the teenager look repeatedly at detailed crime scene photos of his dead brother. The photos seemed to further dislodge something fundamental inside Alex. Within weeks, he was no longer at the gang’s periphery, he was at its center. As the months went by, it seemed more and more that Alex was a kid who wanted to die. During the next few years he rose to the top of the gang heirarchy, and I suspect there wasn’t an LAPD officer working the gang detail at Hollenbeck division who had not heard of him—and not in a good way.
Still, there were times when Alex would attempt to wrench himself from gang life. He hooked up with a nice young woman, got a job, had a kid, and managed to find some balance for a while. But it never seemed to last. There would be another shooting, another death of someone Alex knew, and he’d be right back in it, his unhealed misery and guilt over his brother’s death bubbling out of him like toxic lava.
Finally, early in the Summer of 2004, Alex called me out of the blue and said he was ready to get out. He had two little girls, and he needed to build a real life for them. Did I know of any jobs? Even during the awful times, I’d always really liked Alex, and never been able to give up on him. So, on an optimistic instinct, I told him, sure, if he was really ready to work his butt off at something, I would recommend him into a great jobs program I knew of called Streetlights, where young men and women with barriers to employment are trained to be production assistants for the film, TV and commercial production industries.
I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake.
The program turned out to be a perfect match for Alex’s talents, which include a high degree of intelligence, charisma, leadership ability, and a self-starter attitude. He not only completed the program, he was arguably its star. After graduating, Alex went on to work non-stop on production after production. The Streetlights people praised him to the sky. And, about once every month or so, Alex would call me to thank me (again) for my recommendation, and to update me on his progress. “I’ve never been so happy,” he told me.
But then in February of 2005 there was still one more shooting.
In involved Alex’s older brother, Mike, who had always steered clear of the gang. Now in his late 20’s, he’d been working in gang intervention for several years. On that particular day Mike was walking with another former homeboy—who also happened to be Alex and Mike’s cousin—to take him to a job interview. A gunman ran up in broad daylight and shot both men. Mike was shot in the head and the back, he lived. The cousin did not.
Everyone close to Alex prayed he wouldn’t go off the rails again. And for several weeks after the shooting, he seemed remarkably okay. But one Friday night after a long, hard work week, he had some drinks with some friends on the production crew. And then he had some some more drinks. And then something snapped. Before long, Alex was driving around the wrong East LA neighborhoods with a gun in his car.
In the end, Alex never did anything. He just drove. But, just as he was about to head back home, in a last, supremely stupid moment of old/new grief and old/new rage, he fired a single shot into the air. A couple of cops saw him do it. Alex went to prison for 21 months for illegal discharge of a firearm. It appeared he needed one last wake-up call. Early in his prison stint, we talked on the phone a couple of times about how he finally needed to face his demons…..needed to bring light to all those dark places that still festered. Needed to somehow forgive himself for Joseph.
He was released in October of last year. Since that time, Alex has again worked non-stop as a production assistant in the making of TV commercials. Now he’s so well-regarded that production managers fight to use him. (I have this on good authority because I know one of his bosses.) Whenever he can, he tries to spend time with camera operators, as he’d like to learn that skill next. Plus he’s a good husband, and good father, doting on his little girls. He is also more emotionally open than I’ve ever known him to be.
As part of his plea agreement, Alex was supposed to be on parole for three years. But his parole officer is so impressed with his progress, that he’s recommending that Alex’s parole be ended and told him to gather two or three letters of support to bolster his case with the parole board.
Alex called me when I was still in the car driving home from Montana. Could I possibly write him a letter? he asked. Of course, I told him. I’d be proud to do it.
He’s bringing the letters to his P.O. today.
In the past, conventional wisdom would have suggested that Alex was just the kind of guy not to bet on. He was too angry, too wounded, too deep into the gang….too far gone.
Yet, against all odd, he is making it. And, yes, certainly, something could happen tomorrow to send Alex spinning. But, I’ve also seen the most unlikely, screwed up, angry, bad ass homeboys one day snap out of it, and then do the hard work necessary to transform themselves into ordinary working stiff/tax-paying, soccer dads, living and barbecuing in the suburbs.
Miracles happen. I’m betting (and hoping and praying) that Alex is going to continue to be one of them.
Celeste, thanks for bringing this up. As a counselor, I have always believed that change is possible (I see it every day) and that and that a life misspent can be turned around. Here’s hoping Alex’s change is permanent.
Go, Alex! This is a great story, Celeste. Thanks.
I’m happy for Alex, but the resources that helped him are not available for everyone nor would we expect the same results with most others. Law enforcement needs to apply as much pressure to end gangs as they have to fight the Mafia. In the meantime, Celeste, recommend that families get the hell out of Dodge and move somewhere safe.
The L A Times editorializes about the government plan to issue U-visas to illegals who have been victims of crime, as long as they cooperate with law enforcement. This has been on the books for 7 years, but not used, with all the confusions in government across the board. Only 10,000/yr are available, but still that would be an excellent start to solving gang and other crimes in the illegal community. Recipients would get a 4-year temp visa, and, if they were in good standing at the end of that, could start the full legalization process. Great way to encourage participation in their communities without fear, in fact rewarding responsible behavior. Lack of this cooperation is why so many crimes are unsolved, and illegals themselves victimized.
Finally then L A could dispense with this B S about Sp40, not asking immigration status or deported criminal illegals, and I hope putting an end to this sanctuary city business, which only a few liberals and Hispanic councilmembers catering to their districts’ illegals support, not the general public (Janice Hahn, and Huizar, Alarcon, Reyes, most conspicuously). We are hurt at the federal and state level for being a sanctuary city (the Republicans who stole our $1.3 billion in gas tax funds explicitly did not want to see L A or S F, the other “sanctuary city,” get the money), and Congress is talking about passing formal legislation to penalize sanctuary cities. (This status also emboldens illegals like the Arellano people to come here and make their stands, provoke our cops, and cost us more multi- millions in resulting lawsuits.)
Finally, something pro-active that should be encouraged.
No U-Visa or little piece of paper is going to stop me from finding any snitches.
Well then, Mr. 9mm Glock, I suggest you pack your bags because the tide is turning against gangbangers turning our formerly civil city into Columbia or El Salvador or Mexico City at their worst.
Are you for real, or just trying to stir things up? Because if Celeste is running around trying to “save” young people who would freely kill any innocent person who dares report on the criminals victimizing them and society, she sure is wasting her time. Which Woody could have and did tell her in many ways long ago. (But we all respect her good heart.)
Well, we can control crime in Georgia. A policeman was eating at a McDonald’s where I used to stop, and there was too much salt on his hamburger. He arrested her, she spent the night in jail, and the hamburger has gone to the crime lab. She was charged with a-salt.
Woody, I just saw that report, but it sounds like she did it on purpose because she was ticked off. Funny, your use of a-salt: I was watching the subtitles on the news while at the gym treadmill one night, and the translator wrote exactly that, that the “officer was salted by” an angry someone. Made me visualize people running after cops with salt shakers.
(To take a break from the gangs and truly sinister hearts and minds we get a glimpse of here and there…)
I’m not going any where, why do you think we are all illegal Miss Minuteman.
http://www.nationalgangcenter.gov/documents/NGCbulletin_207.pdf
Well then, you’re just a sad excuse for a human being, and if you WERE smart, you’d get the hell out of wherever you are, and away from whoever you’re associating with — just like drug addicts are required to when they get out on parole. Don’t tell me you “can’t” because of the costs or poverty, anyone can start anew somewhere else, all it takes is a basic job to put a roof over your head, AND the will. But you seem to enjoy being a threatening presence to people, by way of getting their attention and sympathy. No sympathy here — break the cycle of the hell you’ve created for yourself AND for this city and country.
maggie, you’re soooo insentive. Wait to go!
Woody, I guess you mean “way to go.” I believe in extending a helping hand to those who want it (like kids born into a dire situation who want out), but if someone bites that hand, and goes further and says, “I’m gonna getchu, sucka,” then he’s declared war on my way of life, which starts with the city and extends to the country.
Not that I’m a practising Christian anymore, but I put in my Sunday school time, and Jesus told his disciples to “wipe the dust off your feet” when they went into a hostile home — he was smart enough to know that you are to focus on those who want your help, “husband your resources” emotionally as well as financially. And don’t get bogged down by the evil — even his disciples were only human.
(Jesis was a cool guy, not nearly as namby-pamby “turn the other cheek” wimpy as people like to make out. He couldn’t have succeeded if he was a punching bag.)