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Remembering Smiley: When Bullets are Reduced to Dust


I notice that a lot of people have been checking WitnessLA
for information on Irvin Panameno. (You can find Irvin’s story here.). Thus I wanted to post some details about the services for Irvin.

The wake for Irvin Panameno—known around the Homeboy Industries office as Smiley—will be held on Friday night, Sept 17 (tonight), from 6 to 9 p.m. at Felipe Bagues Mortuary, 130 E. 1st Street, Los Angeles, 90033.

The funeral will be on Saturday, Sept. 18, at Dolores Mission Church, at 11 a.m. 10:00 a.m.

[NOTE CHANGE: I HAVE JUST BEEN INFORMED THAT THE SERVICES ARE AT 10 a.m. NOT 11.]


And while we on the topic of a great kid whose death has broken a a lot of hearts, there is one more story about Smiley that I wanted to pass along to you. (After all, it’s the small things that often reveal the most about character.)

It’s a story that James Parra, Employment Services Director at Homeboy Industries, tells about Irvin joining the Homeboy LA Marathon team last year. It seems that originally Irvin joined as a “waterboy”—not as a runner. He figured he’d be part of the experience by providing help and back up for other Homeboy staffers who had trained to run the 26-mile course.

But then, “a few days before the race,” writes James, “he decided to do it. At first I thought he couldn’t run 26 miles.”

After all, James says, Irvin had no experience at all in distance running. But he wanted to try it anyway. For segments of the race, Irvin even helped another friend and staffer, a guy named Alex Diaz, who is confined to a wheel chair but “ran” the race by being propelled by his fellow team members, several of whom took turns pushing Alex as they themselves ran.

Once Smiley decided he was going to try to run the marathon, he also wanted to be one of the wheelchair pushers.

“Irvin ran for the spirit of Homeboy….” writes James. ” And he finished, crossing the line in Santa Monica……”

The photo above shows the Homeboy runners at the end of the race.

“No bullet can remove our sacred memories, brother,” writes James under one of the race photos he has posted on Irvin’s Facebook page.

Of course. That is precisely what Greg Boyle has been telling Smiley’s grief-stricken co-workers all week, but it also has the advantage of being the truth: Against memories like these ones, against affection like this kid engendered, bullets are reduced to dust. They have no power at all.

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