Scribeskidrow

2010-05-29T12:54:00.000-07:00

General Jeff and LL Cool got together recently to discuss Skid Row

LIFE

2010-03-15T22:46:00.000-07:00

Skidrow and Facebook Team UP

2009-11-03T11:56:00.000-08:00

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Last week someone asked, “Walter, where do you believe the fight for the people of Skid Row- the homeless, HIV/AIDS patients, and otherwise forgotten, ignored and disenfranchised in Los Angeles- is being waged the strongest. Is it in the traditional media, print and broadcasting? Is it in City Hall?”. “No, none of the above!!!” I responded without hesitation. “The battle for the people of Skid Row, the homeless and other similar social causes is being waged fiercely on the internet!!”
From Facebook to the Huffington Post, the new electronic media is an effective megaphone, its advancing the causes that hunger for attention and assistance. An army of advocates, social workers, lawyers and individual citizens engage each other in conversation, debate and recruitment for their cause of choice. Community advocates dispatch mass emails to promote their causes as well as update their constituency with breaking news of ongoing issues. Benito Compito, founder of the Skid Row 3on3 Streetball League, and General Jeff, the DLANC (Downtown Los Angeles Neighborhood Council have been very adroit at utilizing this vehicle.
A Skid Row fraternity is flourishing on the internet and Facebook. Former workers who have transferred out of the neighborhood and current workers, along with past and present denizens, use the most popular and far reaching social network on the internet to stay connected and dialogue about Skid Row issues. . Through this interaction, a viral process increasingly widens its audience as it engages the community and furthers its awareness of various social issues connected to homelessness and mental health. In addition to educating the network community, the phenomena also serves to increase active participation in the form of volunteers and donations.
A deputy city attorney associated with the initial phase of the Safe City Initiative believes the proliferation of the Skid Row community on the internet began out of frustration. “Many of us who worked in Skid Row wanted to make a difference…to get things done… to help people. At times it was frustrating. I used to go to meeting after meeting. It felt like people just wanted to have meetings just to have meetings. Nothing ever got done. Sometimes approved action plans of important matters like removing numerous homeless off the streets and placing them into housing were stalled until a county supervisor received top marquee billing for the plan. It was as if people wanted to sabotage progress. The internet takes ideas straight to the public. We receive immediate feedback and can mobilize support when we post messages.”
Several executive directors of nonprofit organizations active in the Skid Row Community are firm believes in the power of the internet. Andy Bales, CEO, Union Rescue Mission states “Yes, Walter, although Direct mail donations are down, internet giving and Facebook/Twitter/Social Media is gaining momentum for advancing the cause. It is gradually taking the place of Direct Mail for fundraising, and is far superior for connecting with volunteers and stirring up a cause. Grace Dyrness, former CEO, LACEH&H(Los Angeles Coalition to End Hunger and Homelessness)adds “It is so important to communicate on the internet because that is becoming the best way of communication. Our electronic newsletter definitely gets a response (although not in money) and we are finding that as the most effective way to get information out to people. Email has definitely been the best way to work with others when you need a rapid response on issues. Joel John Roberts, CEO, PATH (People Assisting The Homeless) Partners, continues, “I think the partnership between social media and nonprofits is still young. Larger nonprofits are just getting into online media. The power in social media to mobilize communities, empower people who are disenfranchised and for soliciting donations is significant. I think in the next five years it will take off.”
The internet also serves well those journalists with a penchant toward advocacy as an alternative vehicle for their stories. If done well, Celeste Fremon, publisher of Witness LA.com and writer for the Huffington Post says, “When I want to do a story or focus reader attention on someone who would traditionally be voiceless, their problems ignored by the conventional media, I no longer have to persuade an editor to let me do the story. With the advent of blogs and Internet news sites, I can just write the story. And if I'm smart about it, I can get others to pick up my story, so that it migrates to an arena beyond my own readers. At times, this means it migrates to mainstream media, as well.”

If you want to know what is happening in the world of social entrepreneurship, stay on line. Pick a news site, or social network. It is where the action is.

Was This Really Necessary?

2009-10-28T13:06:00.000-07:00

This extremely mentally ill woman, who does not comprehend anything, was receiving a ticket for jay walking. Was this really necessary. She will not be able to pay the ticket. It is excess work for those who already are snowed under. Does it help the woman? The officers approached her from behind, tight to her so she was not aware of their presence. They could have approached her from a wider angle instead of making her jump ten feet in the air when she realized the huge horses were in her presence.

Did this event help her or the city?

LA Times Is Not a Good Neighbor to Skid Row

2009-08-12T23:25:00.001-07:00

This morning I read the article the LA Times published about the murders at the Lamp residential building in the Skid Row community. It is now twelve hours later and I am still wondering what the purpose of the article was. I found out about the article when a former counselor in one of the many Skid Row programs called me to inform me about it. Yes, the article created a stir but not much more. The only thing it did was continue to associate Skid Row with drugs and crime. And yet there is so much more to the community.

The Los Angeles Times and the Skid Row community are neighbors. Skid Row is known as the homeless capital of the United States. There is no other member of the press in the country which is in a better position than the Los Angeles Times to examine the complex forces which culminate in the ever increasing homeless population in a community two blocks away from its headquarters. It can serve as the lightning rod for the Los Angeles community, as well as others, to end this problem. I have said many times, "if you solve the problems of Skid Row, you solve the problems of this country." The LA Times is at ground zero of many of the issues which plague America. It neither examines the negative forces within it, nor reports on the various grassroots movements sprouting within its borders to bring about positive change. Instead, it lowers itself to tabloid journalism and sensationalizes a double murder in community about which it knows nothing.

When was the last time the LA Times talked about Skid Row? Oh yes, I believe it was during the premiere of 'The Soloist' when every mainstream media outlet joined the 'hoopla bandwagon' surrounding the movie. It was not going to be left out of course. But it fails to take the lead in doing an in debt series on a community which is a mirror of many threads which comprise the fabric of America. There is enough about Skid Row, positive and negative to earn its own section in the Los Angeles Times.

The writer singles out the Lamp organization for failing to protect its residents. Let me presume to educate this writer. Drugs are sold and done in practically every building in Skid Row. I am in a position to comment on it. I lived in three Skid Row buildings. In each of them there was a constant battle to keep drugs out. Drug dealers, as well as users are ingenious at devising ways to smuggle drugs into the residential buildings. Every night I hear security guards chatter on the walkie-talkies. They vigilantly report to their supervisors that doors and windows are secured. I currently work in a residential hotel in Skid Row. Among other things, it is my job to monitor the conduct of visitors which enter the facility. I never know if a guest is upset at a person residing in the building. I never know if a guest has a secret agenda of taking revenge for an insult, real or imagined. I never know if a tenant, lucid yesterday, forgot to take his meds today and believes that the world is out to kill him. When that happens, violent behavior can occur at any time. Every manager of a Skid Row building knows who is selling and/or using drugs in it. There is little anyone can do about it unless it is done openly. We cannot search people even when it is obvious they are bringing drugs into a building.

When was the last time a member of the Los Angeles Times staff talked to residents or workers other than during a high profile issue? I talked to General Jeff, Downtown Los Angeles Neighborhood Council board member representing Skid Row, in the beginning of his second year in office. Few people know the various components of Skid Row and how they intersect like he does. I asked him if the writer of the Lamp article has talked to him. "I have never talked to anyone from the LA Times since I was elected as a DLANC board member." Why do they not talk about the many things that are happening in Skid Row? "Walter, they do not want to talk about anything good that goes on in Skid Row!!!" he added.

Skid Row is not a static environment. The nature of the neighborhood is in constant motion as are many of the residents which come and go on a daily basis. I have been a part of the community for a long time. I struggle to understand it and the many challenges it faces. I am here every day and must update myself on the minute changes. And yet, a writer who spends no time in the community-who has no investment in it- publishes a skewed snapshot of it(as if the snapshot of this Lamp facility is an aberration in the community), and, in its wake, Skid Row residents, unnerved, hustle for answers about their safety and the genuine dedication of social service providers to ensure it. When the dust settles, the writer knows no more about the community than he did before the murders took place.

If The Los Angeles Times spent any time gardening in its backyard, it would learn that many beautiful things are growing in Skid Row; the Skid Row Photography Club, Film Club, 3on3 Streetball League and the newly formed Skid Row Bureau of Journalism. These grassroots organizations serve to uplift the self esteem of the residents. Stories about those organizations may encourage people in the city, starving to find ways to help, to contribute their talent and or results to further progress. Instead, articles like the one published this morning, have the residents feeling bitter; their community is only featured when the stories can give an "Oh My God" reaction from the readership. Moreover, people are scared to become involved.

People who live in Skid Row have so little but give so much to each other. America needs to learn more about the quality of this community. The spirit of giving and caring blankets the environment. Thr, e LA Times, which has so much, gives so little attention and help to its neighbor. It reminds me of the 1960's character Mrs Kravitz in the sitcom Bewitched. Mrs. Kravitz would either visit the Stevens house only when she wanted to dig up some dirt or sneak across the street and peer through the Stevens' blinds until she saw something. Then she would run back across the street screaming and yelling until she could find anyone to whom she could gossip about her latest discovery. ,

The LA Times, not taking the lead in shedding light on the myriad of complex forces that plague Skid Row, and thus, America, should just run back across the street to its big building and draw down the blinds and hide in fear of its neighbor until it has the guts to come out and discover the people of Skid Row are like the bear, Gentle Ben. Until it does and begins to report about Skid Row in an active effort to bring change, it will only sound like the gossipy Mrs. Kravitz.

States Are Making Cuts While Banks Are Posting Profits

2009-07-27T08:16:00.000-07:00

Arianna Huffington writes an interesting article about how 39 states are forced to cut surfaces while the banks which received the bail out funds are posting profits.

Many of those cuts are services for the elderly,children, mentally ill and low income families. The cuts are coming at a time when people need them the most. It is an analysis of the opportunity cost incurred in bailing out the banks at the expense of the well being of the United States citizen.

Please read it.

Los Angeles Ranked As Meanest City In The Country for Homeless

2009-07-15T09:39:00.000-07:00

The City of Los Angeles is accused of criminalizing its homeless population. In a report done by two Los Angeles Advocacy Groups, is labeled as the meanest city in the country for people who do not have shelter.

The National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty and the National Coalition for the Homeless perfomed a study of 273 cities and placed Los Angeles at the top of the list. In 2006, Los Angeles was number 18 on the 'mean cities' list.

Read the Yahoo article published yesterday.

Echo Park

2009-07-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

Echo Park is so beautiful. It was the first place I went fishing as my father took me there when I was 6 years old. I tried to catch a fish for a few hours and, then, when we were getting ready to leave,I felt something tug on the line. When I brought the fish up to the surface, it was very clear I had not skill. The fish did not take the bait. It swam by and the side of its body got snagged by the hook.The view of the park reminds me how beautiful old Los Angeles is. The cascading palm trees are so picturesque.
And of course, one must always have a shot of the skyline from different perspectives when it is at all possible.

Are You In The Drug Business

2009-06-17T12:54:00.000-07:00

Finally I was on may way. The address to the cemetery, burried in a pile of emails was found. Flowers were purchased in the morning as well as a new pair of short pants to be worn for the visit, one that I had postponed, or better yet avoided for a little while---32 years.

On June 8, in the early morning overcast,I drove to the Lincoln Cemetery, in Carson. An historic cemetery Lincoln is filled with the names of people of color that contributed to the history of Los Angeles County. When one enters, in plane view is a monument in tribute to Private Anderson. Private Anderson was the black male in the United States Marine Corp to win a Congressional Medal of Honor when he threw himself on a grenade saving the lives of his fellow shoulders in Vietnam.

Estella Melton was not killed in Vietnam. She was killed in Los Angeles(a Vietnam of sorts at the time of her death), by young men who robbed her to get money for drugs. Estella Melton is my Grandmother. She had a few dollars on her but they 'came up' when they found her gold necklace. It was discovered when a 'fence',a street pawn shop entrenpreneur, doubling as a drug dealer, was arrested for selling cocaine. He accepted the necklace in exchange change in exchange for drugs. Of course, the drug dealer felt he had nothing to do with my Grandmother's death.Throughout Los Angeles, liquor store owners shun away drug addicts and dealers from standing in front of their stores. "Can't stand those dealers and addicts!!", bark the store owners, whether they are in Skid Row or in middle class neighborhoods elsewhere. "They steal." They do not believe they are in the drug business. Yet they sell Chore Boy and King lighters, the tools of choice by crack users. Chore Boy is the copper screen used to keep the melted rock cocaine from evaporating too quickly in order for the smoker to inhale the vapors created from heat applied. The heat is applied by the 'King' Lighters.

Chore Boy is marketed as a dish washing tool and King lighters as any other regular cigarette lighter. However, police regard both as drug paraphernalia when discovered on someone's person. Though marketed as a household necessity, I am hard pressed to remember seeing any Chore Boy in the kitchens of anyone, even the kitchens of drug users.

Is Chore Boy in the drug business or house cleaning business? Marketing executives ask themselves in what businesses or businesses are they wnen examining marketing campaigns and product positioning. Some business analysts argue that McDonald's, though known for its burgers and french fries, is not in the fast food business but in the real estate business as they are actually managing their retail real estate holdings in operating food outlets.

As marketing executives examine their products, communities should ask themselves the same questions about the companies that sell products in their neighborhoods. What business is this company in? Do they have the communities interest at heart? I venture to say that a dominate percentage of Chore Boy sales of its product is to facilitate the easy usage of drugs, not for pot scrubbing. If so, Chore Boy is profiting from the drug trade with impunity. The company that distributes the product does not sale drugs but if drug usage and drug sales were to decrease then so would its income.

Drug users rob people and burglarize homes. The property they seize is used as a medium of exchange to buy drugs. When drugs are purchased, supplies are needed to use them. Stores sell Chore Boy. Stores sell glass pipes which are used to smoke cocaine. Are these stores in the drug business? Should they be allowed to sell goods that are used to use drugs. Millions of dollars of pipes, Chore Boy and other supplies are sold each year. Alcoholism is major problem in communities of color as it is made easy to purchase it given the high amount of liquor stores per square mile that dominate these communities.

How many Estella Meltons are injured or killed because a person, suffering from alcohol or drug addiction knows a 'fence' is waiting to receive the goods. They are quick to take them, knowing they can convert those goods into hard cash. Gold chains, power tools etc can easily be pawned at local pawn shops in exchange for cash. It does not concern them who was in the way when a drug addict burglarizes a house. The liquor stores do not care from where the money comes to purchase pipes and Chore Boy. Easy access encourages the addict to commit crimes,ruin his life and the lives of others as he knows he will be rewarded for his efforts.

Family members of victims, traumatized by their loss, struggle to find closure to such events. Closure does not come easily.

Stores that sell paraphernalia are in the drug business. They encourage addicts to continue using drugs, making it easy for them to obtain the equipment necessary to further them down the road of self destruction. They will continue to sell tools to use drugs, tools which help the dismantling of a community as long as a community allows it to happen.

Is it possible to enact legislation barring such products from being sold within the city limits? Are communities able to protect themselves and their families from self destruction? Yes. Communities need to raise their voices about legal products sold within their communities for not only illegal purposes but harmful purposes as well. If we are to combat drugs in our communities, that battle must be on every front. We must get rid of every little virus that contributes to dysfunction.

In Skid Row, former addicts, with indignation, deny they are in the drug world. The same individuals purchase hot goods, offered by active drug users desperate to find money to purchase drugs. They purchase food stamp cards at discounted prices from addicts who will go hungry but will not go without drugs. People who purchase hot merchandise or food stamp cards are contributing to the drug trade and the destruction of others, their families and their communities.

If we are to eradicate drugs from our communities, every thing must be removed that is associated with drug equation. Along with the drugs and the dealers must go the drug supplies which accompany them and, if necessary, the establishments and/or individuals who sell products which harm our communities. If the removal of Chore Boy, King lighters, and glass pipes from store shelves in our neighborhoods discourages one person from purchasing drugs because supplies to smoke them are too difficult to obtain, or discourages one person from burglarizing a house or assaulting an elderly woman to obtain money for drugs or supplies because it is too difficult to access all of the variables necessary to satisfy the drug equation, that one person has a chance. He has a chance to end his drug use. He has a chance to stay out of jail. His family has a chance to avoid shedding tears when their hearts ache from missing him while he is in jail. The person has a chance of not hurting or killing someone. An elderly person has a chance of not being harmed or killed. A grandson will have a chance to enjoy his grandmother. That grandson will not struggle for 32 years to bring closure to such a painful event in his life.

Midnight Mission Hosts Clinic To Assist The Community with Traffic Tickets

2009-05-30T14:08:00.000-07:00

The Midnight Mission has been a long standing advocate for the homeless and otherwise downtrodden. It has a a wide variety of programs to assist those who are resolute in facing the challenges that blanket their lives. It established itself as being in the vanguard, partnering with other Skid Row organizations while spearheading the negotiations with Hollywood power players to include Skid Row residents as background artists in the movie The Soloist, released earlier this year.

After the negotiations were complete with Hollywood, Orlando Ward, Director of Public Relations for the Midnight Mission, led the Mission staff in conducting a smooth streamlined processing orientation for prospective background artists for the movie, talking and joking with residents when, occasionally, patience by some was giving way to short sighted outbursts.

On Thursday May 21, The Midnight Mission, in partnership with the City Attorney's Office, hosted the Halo Clinic, a program to assist residents of Skid Row resolve their outstanding traffic tickets to avoid criminal prosecution. It took a year of negotiations and planning to make this clinic happen. The Mission staff was again courteous and efficient while handling the large crowd which gathered there to clear themselves of open traffic ticket cases. Residents from the various Skid Row programs as well as the homeless attended the clinic.

The Physically challenged Struggle When The Cameras And Spotlights Are Off

2009-05-25T08:03:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in my early blogging days, I went to Wells Fargo Bank on Spring St. Turning the corner from 4th Street onto Spring St. I came upon a huge protest by home care workers in front of the Reagan State Building. The demonstration was a vocal outcry against the feared budget cuts by Governor Schwarzenegger which would most likely cost them their jobs.

That was quite some time ago.

On Friday, May 22, I went to the same bank and came across another demonstration by the same workers for the same reason, to prevent the loss of jobs. The voting results on Tuesday motivated the unions to present a strong voice to the governor. Placards were everywhere: "Don't Risk Lives" was a prominent one held by protesters. The message was clear: If jobs are cut, people who need supportive services will be at risk.

Union Officials scuttled around to find those who were the most physically challenged to interview with the mainstream media, using the visual images of the physically challenged as a powerful weapon to grab the emotions of the viewers.

I watched all of this with a different eye from the previous demonstration. At that time, I had only lived on Skid Row for six months and was sequestered from most of the community until I started blogging. Skid Row had not had a chance to work its magic on me--to truly understand the plight of people who struggle every day.

This time I possessed the eye of a man who has experienced Skid Row in various capacities for over two years. I have seen many people who are wheelchair bound. I have lived with them and talked with them, and have grown to appreciate the various challenges they face every day and the courage it takes to face each and every one of those days. I no longer live on Skid Row but I still work there. However the lessons I learned from the people who need supportive services help me every day as I assist in taking care of my mother, a dementia victim.

One can not live on Skid Row and not be affected by the environment. It changes you. if you possess your total faculties and are physically able you begin to appreciate how fortunate you really are. You see people struggle so hard to make it from one block to the next, going to the store or to an office to handle their business. Day after day the fight to survive.

These people need allies more than once or twice a year when the TV channels hustle to get wheelchair bound people to compete against other channels who are doing the same. The union workers should launch a never ending campaign to assist those who are needy instead of only when they need them to bolster an argument to save their own jobs.

Every where I travel in this city, I see physically and mentally challenged people. They are forgotten by the masses and isolated to fight their own battles until the spotlights need them again.

Cindy, a spinal chord injury victim, is the woman in the picture. She speaks on the video about her concerns. Cindy should not have these concerns about which she speaks. Can TV take a time out from customary practices and provide coverage to a category of our population that needs their assistance and commitment. Can the media and unions fight for them longer than just the time it takes to create a sufficient sound bite? Can the population get behind the struggles of people who need 24 hour care and compel the government to care for them regardless of the budget situation. Can America find its moral compass and use it to maintain the course for a better humanity? Are we able to embrace these people and demonstrate by our actions they are not are not forgotten? Until we do, people who need help will continue to be isolated. As long as they are isolated from the mainstream population, the mainstream population will be isolated from themselves.

Homeless Children

2009-05-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

People are under the impression that the homeless are so because of their own decisions.

Approximately 40% of the homeless population are children. How can America turn its back on children? How can the State of California try to make cutbacks that increase the vulnerability of children and the elderly? I can not answer that question but the practice continues.

Here is an article about a homeless girl who became that way without making any decisions. All children become homeless because of factors over which they have no control.

They suffer though we can bail out banks and have the money go to the executives that created this catastrophy in which we find ourselves. Go figure.

Death and Drugs

2009-04-29T22:29:00.000-07:00

"Walter, did you hear about the shooting around the corner?", he asked me when I walked into the office for work over a week ago. He was referring to the two murders in the Lamp residential facility. The rumor is that it was a contract killing: competitors in the drug trade could not arrive at an agreement so two men died/

"Walter, just so you know, a woman overdosed in the shower on Saturday," were the first words uttered to me on Monday when I again reported for work.

"Walter, we just found another person dead". That was yesterday. One man loitered about asking questions, feigning concern and interest in the fate cast upon the deceased. However the strain draped upon his face made transparent what he believed was concealed: he was worrying if it was his heroin that killed the deceased. It was not easy to discern if he was worried to ease his conscious or if that anxiety was due to the fact that he may not be able to use his own supply. Four deaths are within a block of each other. All of which are related to drugs. Family and friends are weeping day and not for their love ones who are gone.

A man was looking for his son. He presented me with a flyer. His eyes waited anxiously while I studied the photo. Yes, I thought I had seen the man. No, I was not sure. I did not want to give him hope yet did not want him to be discouraged. Fortunately he shared with me that others had seen him. They called him but before he could arrive, they man had vanished. The man was his son. He walked out of a drug rehabiliation facility and landed on Skid Row. He had only a few weeks to before he completed the program. Once finished, he could have gone into court, had his probation cleared and case of possession dismissed. Now, he risks being returned to jail or prison. His probation officer explained to the father that he must report to him before May 5. Otherwise he will have violated his probation or parole. The father was not clear. It makes not difference what it is called. Incarceration is the same, no matter the label.

Yes, the coroner wagon is not an uncommon sight. Its presence does not dissipate. It has a waiting clientel standing on 6th and Gladys though they may not realize they are patrons of the morgue.

I did drugs for a long time. I was not surprised that I stopped, though it seems to fascinate others. Yes, the relapse rate is high. Sometimes I believe it is high because people are told that relapse is expected. Self fullfilling it becomes. I am not concerned about how to stop.

I am more surprised, as each day goes by, that I ever started. Exploring is one thing but remaining in that forrest is quite another. Once you go deeper and deepr into it, it does become difficult to find one's way out. It becomes easier to stay in it than fighting to get out of it.

There was a friend of mine. We were on a high school championship team together. We went to school together from the 7th to 12th grades. When I came home once I saw his name on commercial real estate signs along the Wilshire Blvd corridor. Eventually I worked with him. However there was a night when we had a long conversation and he shared with me that he did not like doing what he was doing. He was making well over $250,000 a year. Why did he keep doing it? "I do it because I am good at it". He did not mention that he did it because he made a lot of money. The psychological income was more valuable to him than the money.

Why did I continue to get loaded off drugs? I got loaded because I was good at it. It is ironic that being one of the best at something is the road to destruction. Never the less I was good at it. I was a good liar,when, after my money ran out, I could find inventive stories to borrow more. Of course, it tormented my soul. However that was offset by the warped sense of accomplishment I felt when I put it all together to make a deal.

When one sets out to get loaded, you have a goal. When the goal is accomplished, you feel up with confidence. Yes, you see the day when it all may catch up with you. but you continue because it takes so much to turn your mindset around long enough to make a dent in carving out a new path, an enduring path.

Last week, the Safe Cities Initiative almost fell prey to the budget ax. Yes, the mayor's office said that it was an oversight. I find it easier to believe that there is good swamp land in Florida to purchase. There are too many checkpoints that the budget to pass--too difficult for anything to be missed.

It is much more plausible to believe that the Mayor's office believed that it could not gain any more political capital helping Skid Row and that in a time when people are concerned about surviving, they could take away the little Skid Row had been given.

Yes it is the time to tighten belts. But does it have to come on the backs of the people who have nothing and need the most help. It costs the city a lot more to house and cloth people in jail than it would to teach them something, that when they learn how to do it, they feel good about themselves. Something that can help them earn a living.

It is not the time to cut back on Skid Row. It is time to increase aid. People will return to jail if, after freeing themselves from drugs, there is nothing upon which they can grab, that makes them proud of themselves.

If the city does not go that extra step. The coroner wagon will continue to be a regular guest in the Skid Row community.

Lesley Taplin And Now 'The Soloist' Teach The Nation about the Power of Love

2009-04-23T13:57:00.000-07:00

Lesley Taplin died recently in a car crash.was a tireless supporter of the Skid Row community. She was an early supporter of the Skid Row 3 0n 3 Street Basketabll League while a volunteer member of DLANC, The Downtown Los Angeles Neighborhood Council. She championed the causes for children and adults, making resources available that would further the education of both while on DLANC's education board. Her picture will be displayed indefinitely as her spirit will never die in the hearts and souls of the people of Skid Row.

It is ironic that her death came on the eve of the premiere of the movie The Soloist, which is a story about the unlikely friendship between Steve Lopez, a staff columnist for the Los Angeles Times and Nathaniel Ayers, a former musical prodigy who studied at the famed Julliard School until he was stricken with schizophrenia and landed on the streets of Skid Row. As Lesley Taplin developed unlikely friendship with Skid Row, so did Steve Lopez and Nathaniel Ayers.

Lesley Taplin understood that Skid Row is a very complexed environment. She knew that the problems of Skid Row were a consolidated, condensed microcosm of America. Indeed, she endeavored to bring attention to the various issues of homelessness, poverty, mental illness, education and human relations, while encouraging the people of the communit to empower themselves. Lesley knew that this place called Skid Row, that many scorn, is a place of hidden beauty and power where one could learn the profundity of life and relationships. It is a place that fascinates me. That is why I call it The University of Skid Row.

There is a Skid Row deep in all of us. The good, the bad and the ugly. However, there is a unique purity of kindness that evades all of us to some level. If you remain in Skid Row long enough, you begin to grasp it. it no longer runs through your fingers as easily as water. You can cup it essence and drink its refreshing and insightful purity. Lesley epitomized that purity. She was a professor at the University of Skid Row, the de facto human laboratory of the United States. It is all here for any to see. If you unravel the entangled threads of anomalies that form the fabric of this community, you will solve the issues of the country.

National Public Radiohas done a series of articles about the Skid Row environment. Please use the link to read those articles. It will provide a cross section of perspectives that will serve to generate thought and discussion of the many challenges that we face in ourselves, individually and as a national and world family.

LAPD Officer Deon Joseph

2009-04-13T12:15:00.001-07:00

Today an article I wrote about LAPD Officer Deon Joseph was published in LABeez, the new online hub for hyper-local ethnic news in Los Angeles. I also write a column which is published weekly on the site.

Please enjoy the LABeez website as it publishes interesting news articles on a variety of issues that impact the various communities, and thus, all of us.

I would like to add that I have started a new blog, A New Era. I share with you my adventures and experiences as I embark on a new phase in my life. A cornerstone to my blog will be the challenges and joys I experience caring for my mother who has dementia.

I will continue to post on Scribeskidrow material pertaining to social issues in general as well as those traditionally associated with Skid Row.

Thank you

It Is Over--A Free Man

2009-03-24T05:23:00.000-07:00

4:00 AM. So silent. The energy is peaceful. No cars are driving by the window. I am sitting with the shutters open in the dark. A green traffic light never changes in the background of my peripheral vision. Every few minutes a jet quietly floats overhead as it begins its descent into LAX while the heater whispers in warm air behind me.
I am not sleepy. Just very reflective. At the same time I am planning. I can plan now. My life is once again my own.
On March 18, I walked into the Criminal Courts Building (CCB for those who are more familiar with it than they would like to be). The hearing had been postponed on three occasions but this time all parties were present.
My Attorney spoke and he recited the team effort of private attorneys, public officials and police officers that assisted me along the way. It was a verbal parade of un sung heroes for whom I owe a debt that can never be repaid. Two motions were on the table—reduce the felony to a misdemeanor and end probation early.
The DA spoke. I received accolades that I could not believe were used to describe me. A little less than three years ago, the same person wanted me behind bars, fighting vigorously to keep me away from my family. She recounted the complete timeline of my Skid Row experience and as she did so I felt each stage of time, and the texture of my emotions that corresponded to that time. Sometimes I felt the pain. At other moments I merely remembered it. The DA was asked by the judge whether or not she agreed that the motion by my attorney that the felony be reduced to a misdemeanor be granted. She agreed.
The judge looked at me. He had heard the various versions of the success stories that were shared and he added to it. We had gotten to know each other during each delay as the previous commissioner had been appointed to a judgeship in another courtroom. He told me to come back and visit him and let him know how my life was coming along. Both motions were granted. I was no longer a felon in the eyes of the legal system. Probation was lifted. My attorney will file for expungement shortly. When he finished there was an eruption of applause from the courtroom. I turned to face the roar and saw that every seat was filled with smiling faces. It was a very special moment. I was a free man.
I walked out of the building in a blissful, dreamy state. Suddenly it hit me that I did not have to go in there again. It also hit me that I was free for the first time in my life. Sure it was not until three years ago that I had any record but I lost my freedom when I made the decision to experiment with drugs and embarked on a lifestyle of recreational consumption, or so I thought. I was dependent on those drugs. I was not guilty of the crime charged but I was guilty of making bad decisions and exercising a behavior that was destructive and put me in the position for Murphy’s Law to happen.
Since January 1 I have been back in the family house taking care of my mother and enjoying every bit of it. I have thought of this phase of my life that has ended. The lessons learned from it will be nothing compared to what I will learn from it as each day comes and goes.
For years I missed out on much of life smoking the time away in one room or another , alone or with others who chose the same form of self destruction. Now, I try to live it like there is no tomorrow and attempt to do something different and new every day.
This weekend, after the burden was lifted, I relaxed for the first time in years. I drove to Venice Beach, had lunch,breathed the fresh air and felt the crisp wind beating against my face. It was wonderful. I was alive and living life.

"Did you fuck the bitch?"

2009-02-18T22:20:00.000-08:00

“Did you fuck the bitch?” , the words were banging inside of my head as I was driving through Skid Row on my way home. “Did you fuck the bitch?” I was reliving the moment when I first heard that question, my eyebrows raising as I stared at the man who whose fingernails were scratching against the chalkboard of my soul. He had walked into my office earlier in the evening while I was filing something away in a back room. I heard someone walk through the door and immediately walked out to see who was coming in. One does not want to be surprised on Skid Row. It is safer that way. I met him between the door and the backroom, in the narrow corridor that served as an impromptu rendezvous, not of my choosing. “Don’t swing at me Walter; I know I owe you some money. I got you on that but I came to tell you something”. Like hell you do you lying SOB. You are not going to paying me a dime. And you really don’t want to tell me a thing. You are baiting me for some reason but I will find out what it is in a minute. You are too obvious. You always have been. It was Michael. He and I work at the same company and he was a resident where I work. For months he would borrow a few dollars from me and would pay me on payday. There was no need to pay his debt when he moved out as he did not have to see me every day. Payment to me was the cost of passage to his room. He made more money than I did,lived rent free, had endless overtime hours but it never seemed to be enough for him. He was not doing drugs, at least not those that are material for a rapid brush fire of gossip in the neighborhood. His kind of drug is the dominant, though not unanimous docrine in most circles of the male population in Skid Row His addiction is power. Sex is his tool to gain it. Women are his victims. Any woman. If the woman could breathe he wanted her. Had to have her.

It was rumored that he could not keep himself in his pants and his adventures were constant topics in the virtual employee coffee rooms throughout Skid Row. But embellishment is a key ingredient in the Skid Row storytelling culture. Or it seems to be. So I took what I heard with a grain of salt, filtering information into the categories of possibility and probability. Then I saw for myself when, every night, he would parade women in shifts for fifteen minute interludes inside of his room. “Oh, ok, I get it now. That is where his money goes”, I noted after having a front row seat to his escapades.

So I stood there and waited for him to continue with what was obviously a subterfuge of some sort. “You have to be honest with me, Walter. Seriously.” You got a lot of nerve demanding even a hello from me, let alone honesty. “Did you fuck Karlita? Did you fuck the bitch?”
While he was trying to figure out how to continue with this charade, a resident walked by my office and yelled,” You can come by in 10 minutes to get your chicken, I am a little late.” OK, so that is the reason. You spent your money on the hookers. You are hungry and the only reason you would come into this building is because you had no other way of feeding yourself. You had to walk by me and and figured the best way to distract me from telling you about your lying ass was to distract me by talking about something you figured would keep me from throwing you out of here, sex. You are not worth a rat’s ass.
“Ok man, I got some info for you. She did it. Karlita finally went out. She finally went out and she is on one. You can get that pussy for cheap now. 10 dollars. But Robert is fucking it up for everybody. He paid the hoe 400 dollars to eat her pussy. Stupid mother fucka. If he keeps doing that, the brothas might have to pay the bitch 20 dollars for some head and some pussy. Someone ought to kick his ass!!!!” , he barked.
I did not say a word. I just looked at Michael while he was basking in one of his hobbies—being the Paul Revere in Skid Row, announcing to any predator who could hear that a woman was ready for the taking. “Fuck her, abuse her, demean and humiliate her as you please. And while you are at it, make her suck your dick even harder to make up for the times she would not respond to the insulting and degrading overtures that you made. I mean why not, you were only doing the bitch a favor letting her service you!!” It is the dogma that is part and parcel to many on the Nickel. I just looked at him and thought about Karlita and many that I met like her from the moment I set foot on the Skid Row campus.
Karlita is one of many women that have a past. It is part of the Skid Row pedigree, not unique to it, but more visible on the women and men in the community here than in other places. Women struggle to carry the shame with them as they attempt to walk with dignity through the streets of Skid Row while men are offering drugs and money to them, baiting them to come back into the fold of self destruction. The burden of guilt is heavy on their shoulders but you would never know it. They are stoic in public. They shed tears when they are alone with themselves or with fellow women in private rooms where they can talk openly about their pain with those who can appreciate how deeply the ‘past’ cuts into them and the bleeding never ends. There are times when the bleeding is less than other times but it never ends, I was told. Never. Yet there is always the fear that the ‘past’ will come again in the future and the scabs that have developed will give way to a flood of new and more powerful bleeding.

I met Karlita while I was in a computer lab on Skid Row. At the time I did not have a laptop and was a regular visitor of this computer lab as it was the only place where I could upload pictures. I used to live in the shelter and was given the privilege to continue using the lab after I moved from the facility. Karlita was a student in one of the programs there and was making progress putting distant from her collective as well as her most recent ‘past’. She arrived at the shelter from prison which is standard in Skid Row. She struggled but was able to keep the dogs away from her. She maintained focus and a bit of hope. The dogs never stopped barking at her with lurid comments on what they wanted to do with her, not realizing or caring what those comments were doing to her.

Red flags came up when she told me she had a boyfriend. Boyfriends are synonymous with trouble on Skid Row. (Funny, I keep saying Skid Row as I always say that when you look at Skid Row you look at America). She had a job when I last saw her. She was widening the distance from the ‘past’. I knew she was still in the minefield but she had a chance. Men kept telling me about this woman that they saw all of the time, “Man this bitch will not give me any pussy. She thinks she is all that. I am going to wait. I will get it. She will fall. She will go out one day. She will start smoking. Then I will punish her and buy that pussy for little or nothing.”. Secretly I would cheer Karlita and the other women on rooting for her to keep walking through that minefield.

Then she stepped on one. She was laid off. I do not know if she was smoking at the time or not. The predators say she was. But that means nothing. I waited for word. I called her. Talked to her. She was concerned about getting kicked out of the residence where she lived. She needed to pay rent. She needed money. Those fears drive one to smoke at times.

She stepped on another. She was kicked out of the residence. She could not pay her rent and refused to give in to the offers that paid her money but stole her self- respect. I tried to call her. Her cell phone was not in service. At night I could not find her. I wanted to speak to her. Help her. It is interesting that those women, who bleed so much from the pain they feel, help others with the pain they feel. It is ironic that the men who hurt them are the men for whom the sit and listen patiently and attentively while the men tell them their problems and pain.
She could hold on no longer. The mine exploded beneath her, scattering her and at the same time catapulting her into a new ‘past’. The predators were happy and Michael, the Paul Revere of that clan, was happiest of all.
At night, after work, I drove my car through Skid Row hoping I could see her in the shadows of the night and get to her before another predatory dog could chew on another chunk of her spirit. But I had no luck. And then yesterday I heard that she was beaten up in a facility on Skid Row, one of the facilities where drugs are not supposed to be present but where Karlita hung out because it was easier and safer to get drugs there than on the street. Yes. It was easier and safer for her to get drugs in a facility that demands sobriety from its residents.
I heard the residents of this facility beat her up because she wanted more than her fair share of drugs which, of course, would leave them with less.

I wondered where she was. I hoped I could find her last night. I did not recognize her stride in the crowds of women on the streets. Perhaps her gait had changed with the weight and shame of her new ‘past’. I searched for an hour. I gave up.

I turned down Fifth St and headed to the freeway. My head was pounding and the echo was bouncing from one wall to the other. It did not fade as I put physical distance between me and the Skid Row campus. The echo gloated on the fact that it no longer had to compete for attention as there is so much that can grip one while on the Nickel. The echo reverberated louder and louder while ricocheting from left ear to right ear with each passing mile on the freeway on my way home……”Did you fuck the bitch?”

Paradise

2009-02-03T14:32:00.000-08:00

Life is a paradise if only we give it a chance. For the past month I had been commuting to work, in Skid Row(funny how I view a five mile bus ride a commute), from Leimert Park and then driven to my mother’s house at night. This year has started out with a bang and it’s still spurting fireworks. Every day a piece of the beautiful cluster explodes and reveals more to behold. It took a long time to get to this point.
As my year began with new beginnings, so did the country experience the same. It said goodbye to many things that kept our collective growth and spirits handcuffed-an arrested development if you will.
President Obama said that we as a country must get up dust off ourselves and begin anew the process of rebuilding and building. Those words were poignant. They navigated their way into the archives of my Skid Row Soul. “Walter, you have to rebuild yourself. Get up, dust yourself off and start over.” Words that were simple in concept, yet the thought of executing the task were overwhelming.Two and half years ago I stood in the driveway of the family house, next to my mother’s car. She had given me the keys to get the car started. Within minutes, my hands were behind my back and handcuffed. “You were stealing your mother’s car but that is not what we are arresting you for” said the officer. I looked at him in disbelief.
Our nation has been evolving and transforming for years and finally, in November of last year, it was ready to take the next step-to make its transformation official. It elected Barack Obama. The official transition period started on the day of the election and it ended on January 20, when the ‘new’ became official. It was a long road and the country traveled it alone from the days of the slave ships to the inauguration ball. It was a long road and it had many challenges. Our problems were many and they were serious.
I know a little bit about dusting myself off and rebuilding and building. My development was arrested decades ago when I chose a life of self destructive partying-the high life, they call it. It almost ended my life in more ways that I care to let myself imagine at the moment. I experienced too much of it while rebuilding—the wonderment if life was over, that is.
It was a hard road which I started on February 7, 2007, when my ship landed in Skid Row. Of course, I had been on the slave ship Lady Cocaine for a couple of decades, sailing the seas of life in circles, experiencing much of nothing, loosing most of everything and did not see the sands of my soul leaking out of me. As much as I was sailing, I was so anchored. I landed on an island-“Island Los Angeles County Jail”. And there, I was stranded and isolated. People were stranded on the island as well, and many, were dead before they arrived. Many continue to die, in various ways, while I was there. The island made it possible to seal the death of a part of me by separating me from the tides of destruction. Sure, I had made it ashore but the will was a new stalk that had been born and was frail. The island allowed it to gain strength and grow in isolation. It was in that island where the rebuilding began.
In the fall of last year, I decided to purchase a car. It traveled many miles on that rebuilding road just to get to the point where I could think about a car. Fortunately, the preparation merged with opportunity and I was successful in making a deal. Each paycheck I made a payment toward the total price of the car and on Christmas day I made the last payment.
I was in transition. The evolution started years ago when the forces inside of me fought for something new that preserved life instead of, of the negative forces that was killing it. Many seeds of growth had been planted starting from the day of that arrest. Those seeds were watered with endless tears that I shed, day in and day out. Suddenly, in the pool of many years’ tears, I saw a glimpse of a rainbow. Tears of sadness and heartache became tears of joy. That joy grew every day as well as my view of and the size of the rainbow. The seeds of that sudden rainbow were planted when I landed on the County Jail Island but I did not know it.
Today, I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles. I had registered the car and insured it. However I had to get it smog checked. I had my appointment and I could see that things are different at the agency. I had visited it at each step of my rebuilding/building process—the first time was when I needed Identification after landing on Skid Row from the Island County Jail. I could not use my home address at the time. Could not use it when I went to get my driver license earlier this year. Ahh, but I could use it when I went this morning to turn in my smog proof form. It is the address on my new registration. While there I changed my driver license from my Skid Row address to my family house address. Interesting, is it not, how things can change.
I finished my business and had my tags in hand, walked out of the door and went to my car. Before I could enter it, an elderly man stopped and spoke to me in the best English that he could. I do not know his mother tongue. Yet we were able to figure out what he needed and I was able to communicate to him to follow me in my car to where he had to go. I was able to tell him a few words that carried him far like the words that carried me a long way, “Walter, dust off yourself and rebuild.”
Waiving him on, I went home –a place where I could not go for two years. I went home in the same car, where, the last time I stood next to it, before I purchased it I was ‘in the back of it’—behind it. Yes, I purchased my mother’s car, the same car that an LAPD officer told me that I was trying to steal.
I rebuilt myself and I am building myself.
I know a little bit about dusting myself off. I had many problems and they were serious. If I can do it, our nation can do it. We already have in some ways but that is just the beginning. The election was the license to do so. We must put one foot in front of the other. It will be tough. We will shed tears. But the tears will water our future and nourish the seeds of a new beginning. It will take times for the seeds that we plant to germinate. But they will. I am proof of that.
I missed the Bird of Paradise plant while I was back east in college. They do not grow in the snow of Philadelphia. I used to see them upon my arrival back to Los Angeles when my father or mother would pick me up at the Airport. I loved them.
I wake up in the morning and the first thing I do is find a “paradise” plant. Sometimes you can build a paradise in a place where you think there is none. Yet I found Paradise in Skid Row. Found it in myself and waited the test of time for it to grow and spread.
Our nation is strong. We have overcome the insidious drug of hatred and divisiveness. Now we can water our “Birds of Paradise” plants together and nurture it to be greater than it has ever been to fly like the eagle our bird is.
We can do it. We will do it. I must go. Time to go to work In Skid Row. Time to get in the car and sail. Talk to you later.

sunset

2009-01-26T14:07:00.000-08:00

I was at the beach on Saturday and feeling how beautiful life can be.

This sunset is beautiful. I wanted everyone to experience it.

2009 Came in with a Big Surprise--Transition

2009-01-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

It is 6:00 AM and dark outside. Very quiet. A dog bark disturbs, momentarily the peaceful blanket that covers the houses on these blocks. If I recall correctly, that is what happens in this neighborhood at this hour. One dog barks and then another until the family of dogs in the neighborhood sings a morning chorus of sorts. It is music to my ears.
This is my 407th blog. All of the previous blogs, all 406 of them were written in Skid Row or somewhere in the Downtown area. I started writing in the Los Angeles Central Library and Little Tokyo Computer Labs. I uploaded all of my pictures at the Strive program computer lab. No other public facility would allow uploading. I was lucky.
This is the first time I have blogged outside of the Skid Row/Downtown neighborhood. I am sitting in the living room of my mother’s house. Yes, you heard correctly--my mother’s house. It was totally unexpected. But I have been here since the 30th of December.
I had just visited my mother on Sunday prior to New Year’s Day. I had not found the time to write since I posted ‘Freedom/Merry Christmas ‘. That was a special blog for me, simultaneously marking an end to a phase and the beginning of a new life, with a new perspective-- one that fills me with promise. I had been thinking of what Celia had said about how the sacrifices I was making would provide for an opportunity to sit with a comfortable and pleasing view of life. However I did not expect it to come so soon.
I was wondering how long I would have to endure visiting my home only every two weeks and talking out loud for a miracle to happen. Praying for divine intervention, some would say. Two minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was my sister. Two men had broken into my mother’s house. They searched for something but nothing was taken from the house. It did not surprise me. It was the holiday season and my mother lives in corner house. An easy in and out for those who knew an elderly lady lived there alone.
I knew my mother had a care taker. Whether or not she was home alone at night was the question that tormented me for two years. There was no way for me to know. Even after I visited my mother I dared not ask, knowing that if I found out, for sure, that she was alone at night there would be potential for conflict with my sister. Cost was an issue and my sister had been besieged and overwhelmed with so many repsonsibilites once I was no longer present. Responsibilities and challenges I did not have, or to the same degree. My mother has become increasingly more incapacitated during the time I have been gone.
“Walter, you are doing real well, real well”, my sister said. She was struggling to ask me something.
“What do you need? Anything, I will do it. Just tell me.” She paused as if trying to summon whatever was needed to ask me for help. “I want you to stay here tonight”. It was the most natural thing to ask me but I never saw it coming. I never knew what my sister had been thinking. “You have been doing so well, I was thinking about this anyway with the court date coming up. It was not just because of this incident. I feel you could start helping me take care of mom.”.
I work at night but I had not taken a day off since I started. I quickly made some arrangements and was given a two day paid leave. I sat the rest of the day in my room at the Courtland Hotel talking to a friend of mine as I couldn’t believe I was being asked to stay at home. Couldn’t believe I was going to take care of my mother. Couldn’t believe my sister was reaching out to me. I was in a state of wonderful shock. My life had been changing at a steady pace. Jerry Sullivan, the Publisher and Editor of the Garment and Citizen had asked me to join a team of writers of weekly community newspapers in a new online project titled LABeez. It is a new website, a project of hyper local ethnic journalism, managed by New America Media and financed by the Ford Foundation. I have been writing for them since August though the website debuted in December. I had also finished my court ordered classes just before Christmas Day. Finally on Christmas Day, I wrote the last check to my sister for the purchase of my mother’s old Honda. It was a Christmas gift to myself. I was making payments on it for a few months and finally I made my last one. It will take some work to get it going but it is mine.
At 5:00PM, I boarded a bus and headed towards my mother’s house. I have slept in this house ever since December 30th. It is amazing where my life was when I started this blog compared to where it is now. For two years, I spent every waking moment in Skid Row. Suddenly, I am not there anymore except during my work hours. I still have my room but I am transitioning out.
The experience of being in Skid Row helps me every day while helping my mother. She is getting weaker and struggles in many ways. But I am back. She does not have to be alone anymore. I pay someone to bring me home. I do not want to wait for a bus. Every moment home is a precious one. even asleep when I arrive, something tells me that she knows I am home. I promised that she will never have to be alone again.
Taking care of her was an adjustment. It is different being here for long periods compared to a few hour visit. Now I experience her in a different light. The reality of her condition hits me square in the heart as I see how she can no longer do things. I see how it took a toll on my sister the last couple of years.
Yes, I clean up after her. Yes, I wash her linens, sometimes twice a day. She cannot control her bodily functions at times. She gets confused about the simplest of things. Those are the moments when I am glad I am here. Those are the moments when I am glad I experienced the University of Skid Row. The experience living in the shelter with mentally and physically challenged people and working in a building to serve them has served me and will serve me well. I will probably begin to learn more about how the experience has benefited me in more ways than I can imagine now that I have a different relationship with it. It has taught me a great deal. It walks with me every moment. Every person I met is in my heart.
It is interesting to get emails from New Downtown . I see the alerts when they come in. I can see the downtown skyline from my mother’s house and I smile inside. I know that within those mass of buildings people are communicating and making things happen. People are connecting and expressing themselves.
It will be interesting to write about downtown and my neighborhood, Leimert Park. How all of this will come together I do not know. I only know that I will attempt to use multimedia tools of sound slide shows, video, photos and text in a blend that brings stories to life.
How I do it, I do not know. When General Jeff told me I had graduated from the University of Skid Row I believe that that may have been the end of Scribeskidrow. But that may not be the case. Scribeskidrow is more than just what is going on in Skid Row. Indeed Scribeskidrow is about what is going on in America. As I have said for the thousandth time that Skid Row is a mirror of America. But Scribeskidrow is also journey about a man who found himself in a place where he did not want to be. It is about a man who is recovering from different mistakes made in life and is sharing his journey of freedom and clarity in his new life. I remember when Eric Richardson said to me, “Walter, people talk about recovery but nobody knows what the experience is like.” I sure didn’t. And I had no idea what the experience would be like. I know that the first 6 months of it was terrible. I did not plan on being in jail during the infant stage of my recovery. I planned on swimming and jogging on the USC campus. Of all places, I did not plan to embark on the sober journey languishing in jail dormitory. I never imagined the court ordering me to Skid Row. Each was challenging in different ways. Each put building blocks of strength in place.
So this is another step and I hope that the decision I made to talk about my recovery ,openly, will serve to help others realize that it can be done.
I am sure that I will share in this next phase experiences about what it is like to take care of my mother. There are many like me who will be faced with the challenge of taking care of one or both of their parents. All of this is interesting because I thought that I would leave LA once my court obligations were over--to get a fresh start. I thought I would just walk away from all of the past. But I realized that I do not have to leave to heal. Furthermore my mother and sister need me and I can now be the son and brother that I always wanted to be.
There will be challenges. It will be a process in learning how to deal with my mother and her needs will change and require adjustments every day. This is the first time I have talked to my sister this much in my adult life. Who would have figured? Two weeks ago I thought that she and I would never get beyond this schism. Last week I signed some life insurance papers naming her as the beneficiary in the event of my death. We will have challenges but we have a chance.
I think it is just as important for me to share my experiences now compared to when times were so uncertain. It is a new day with new perspectives. I would like some help of a new blog name. I will keep scribeskidrow as it will serve to talk about the issues of homelessness, drugs, mental illness etc. However, I would like a new blog to be about my life, after the storm, and what I see in Los Angele- videos about different parts of town.

It is funny because now I seek more balance in my life. I have the opportunity to reconnect and to connect. In the midst of this transition I had met some women and found that I had been out of the dating seen for so long. My social skills are rusty. But I can not obsess on it. I learned, during my stay on the Row, to let things go. I told you many times that on Skid Row people always say to stay focused. And I have been. But now with this new responsibility, I have gained a deeper level of understanding of what focus is and what that level requires. Basically priorities must be in place and the life's management system must be such that nothing impedes fluid progress in being, in thinking, in actualizing. So letting go was automatic. I will get better as I move forward in this new stage.

I did not think of the name Scribeskidrow. I never would have come up with it. It was the baby of a man who sat at the computer bank in the Transition House. It fit. I would like some help in coming up with a new name that embraces all of the changes in my life (2009-new life) (Adventure 2009) (life’s Rainbow).

Any ideas would be appreciated.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. The New Year has come in a big way for me and it has brought new challenges and opportunities. I do help that in this year I can maintain your interest with interesting stories. That is my aim. Be Safe.
Time to give my mother her medicine.

Happy New Year.

LA Mission Christmas Meal

2009-01-01T07:11:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Eve, the LA Mission gave their annual Christmas Meal. This year there has been a lot more need for their kind service as the economic downturns has hit people from all walks of life. Most missions have seen a surge in the demand for free meal services. "It is clearly economically based", said Herb Smith of the Midnight Mission. "Our greatest increase has not been in the form of hot meals but
in carry out box lunches. People are working,but in order to keep paying rent and the other bills, they must sacrifice the amount of money that can go for meals. The hot box lunches also go to women with children. We have seen a upsurge in single parent women requesting meals for their children."

At a time when demand for meal services are up, all of the Missions are experiencing a decrease in donations. They are off anywhere from 10 to 30 percent, from this time last year, depending with whom you speak.

So clearly the LA Mission had their work cut out for them. There were loads of gifts to give away as well as a show with gospel singing. Everyone was smiling at at a time when there is little to smile about. Later, in the street people were talking about how great the meal was at the mission. So it is clear that the LA Mission accomplished its mission of giving many people a Merry Christmas.

FREEDOM--Merry Christmas

2008-12-25T08:39:00.000-08:00

Merry christmas to every one. I have not spoken to you since Thanksgiving but it was very important for me to at least wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Much is going on with my life and I will share the evolution and perspectives with you over several parts in my Christmas series.
Two years ago, I was sitting in jail on Christmas. I had no windows. I had no one except the men with whom I shared Christmas. Instead of sitting with the men at the tables to eat the Christmas dinner, I grabbed my tray and walked to my bed and cried a lonely cry. There were no windows in the men's dormitory of the Peter Pitches Detention Center of the Los Angeles County Jail system, commonly known as Wayside to the inmate population. There were only skylights and from my bunk I could look up into one. I could see a bright sunny day. The sky was blue and I saw an Air Force jet streak past my view leaving a vapor trail behind. It was a beautiful sight, a sight of freedom, and I clung on to that feeling for dear life. The vapor trail was at first sharp and crisp as was my feeling of freedom. Slowly it began its dispersing process and as it evolved in that process, so did my feeling of freedom. Finally the trail disintegrated and, of course,there was no evidence that it ever existed. In my heart there was no evidence that I had ever been free. That feeling was not only a function oflanguishing in jail, but the years of substance abuse that preceded it. No matter how my life appeared on the outside with the facade of success with titles and suits, I was shackled to dependency. Freedom in many ways was a stranger to me and my search for it was like the endless quest for the Holy Grail.
I found it all the more tragic because my legal problems started AFTER I finally succeeded in overcoming drug use. “Why now?” I kept asking myself. I had worked so hard and battled for so long in a lonely fight that finally ended in victory. I deserved to enjoy it.
Jail was followed with a court ordered stay at a facility on Skid Row. Of course I thought the judge had ordered me to a drug program. But that was not the case. And even though I did everything the program told me to do, I was told, seven months later, though I could leave, I still had to go to another program for 52 straight weeks.
Whenever I looked west from Skid row, I could only see the Great Wall of the Office Skyline. It separated the reality of my existence from what I viewed as freedom and dreams. Skid Row was the dormitory cell. The North-South Skyline dividing line of the office skyline was the row of bars in the skylight that reinforced the fact the freedom was so close but so far. And of course the other side of the skyline laid freedom.
Of course, many other physical things were in place to reinforce the idea that I was in one world and there was another one far beyond my reach. Seeing friends of mine on television, for one reason or another, was a big one. It practically drove me crazy. I felt like I could not dream about that world. That world meant freedom and I was far from it in a physical sense. Everything around me reminded me of that.
I had to survive. I had to keep going. I could not concentrate on the victory of overcoming drug use. I had concentrate on making it through each day emotionally and endure the test of time. I was on a mission and nothing was going to deny me. I had to feel freedom and it was going to be a feeling that I had never before felt because what defines freedom as a teenager or young adult is completely different from what defines it for a middle age man. What defines imprisonment however can be the same and I shed those shackles of psychological dependency and thus rid myself of that nature of imposed psychological and physical imprisonment.
Sure I had the courts limiting my options and they seemed to extend for a lifetime. But people kept telling me life would change. “Just keep going Walt. At least now you know what you must do. There will be no other surprises. Just keep going. “

I found that program. It was slow but each week I knew one thing. Each week I would get closer to the end. I started classes on November 29th of last year. It was rough. I had to pay for it. I had no money. I found the money collecting cans and bottles. I paid my initial fees. Each week I paid something. Each week I went to class. I cussed and swore at a City Attorney friend of mine, Jose Egurbide. I cussed and swore at General Jeff, of Dlanc.

Oh yes, before I catch hell from both of them, I whined a lot also. Boy did I whine. Jose let me whine for a second or two then he told me he could not take it. Jeff was not patient on the whining bit. He lit into me so fast it made my head spin. Each of them challenged me. Each of them pushed me. Each of them challenged me to break the most important moat that separated me from success and any vision of creative success. IT WAS MY MIND. I was allowing the courts and what people may think of me to define my future. It was easier to do that than think beyond it. I had lost the ability to dream. I was used to imprisoning myself anyway. I just found a more subtle way—a convenient way to stay stagnant. Why? The reason was simple. That is what I knew. It was my known quantity.
“I do not want to hear one thing out of you, Walter” declared Jose, former point man in Skid Row for the Safer Cities Initiative. “You are going to do every one of those 52 classes and you are not going to miss one week. You have your whole life ahead of you. You can do anything. You stopped doing cocaine Walter and you never went back to it. You can do anything.”
“Stop with that ole bullshit, man. You can’t let these people or the courts stop you. I am not going to sit here and let you talk yourself into defeat!, barked General Jeff. Both knew I was not going to go missing in action. Both knew I was not going back to drugs. They did not know how long I was going to hold on to the defeatist attitude. Nor did I.
I had to kick that. I had to fight back against the mental moat. Each week I went to class. Each week I made one more step of progress. Each week I took a swing at that giant redwood tree blocking my path.
I had to stay focused. I did not want to move. Everything was convenient: the courts, the transportation lines, the emotional support, my room and eventually the job.
I kept chipping away at that. I finally called one friend. A month or two later I called another friend. I was scared of rejection but I fought through it.
I had a victory in one area of life. I had a victory in another area. Of course those victories came in spurts after hard work. You know the stories of my path already. Those victories are not the point of this post. But each week I knew I would make progress. Time would elapse and I would go to class. I would get one step closer.
During the process. I slowly felt a confidence developing. I guess I was looking at the little victories that had been going on. They were across the board life categories as I had embarked in the beginning to fix my life in all areas. I wanted to clear the way so I could grow and be creative in my growth.
I think it was when I moved to my present residence. I started to focus more on what I felt inside after each completed class rather than getting closer to the end of the obligation itself. Each week I developed more confidence. Each week I noticed that more and more of what had faced me was gradually moving behind me, in addition to the other challenges and victories and confidence that came from it. Roots of confidence were building inside of me. Each week, fresh water, nourishing that confidence, showered onto me with each passing class.

I began to notice that I was not calling Jose or General Jeff to sooth my insecurities about the future. When moments of doubt would surface, I would take a deep breath and say “Walter, you have been through this a thousand times. The feeling will pass. Ride it out.” And it would pass. Perhaps it took take a while but it would pass. “Ah yes, FREEDOM.” I recognized that over a period of time I started training in the triathlon, I was building my ability to be free. It started with the obvious dependency of drugs. Yet over a period of time, even while sitting in jail, I was learning, across various platforms and categories, the respective formulas for being free.
Along the way, I was learning new skills of independence, skills that I had took for granted and neglected to nourish them. Soon they wilted like a plant in the hot sun that goes without water. I had the pleasure of observing myself like a parent who marvels at watching his child grow and learn. I was marveling at myself. And that feeling of despair, of being on a deserted island of misery, was dissipating.
Greater efficiencies in recognizing short term confidence lapses kept me on track. Increased confidence kept me striving. And each week I got closer to the end.
I knew I was building a broad foundation of confidence a pyramid where the pinnacle would be Maslow’s phase of actualization. I had to go through the process. I realized that I had the confidence that came from hard work and perseverance. Every day I knew I did everything I could to be the best I could be. I worked on every single category of necessary development. The pieces of growth were coming together. They came together within each category and soon I was integrating and blending the categories for greater efficiencies. Economics of scale in all categories increased.
My first move from a shelter was to a room on San Julian St. I would visit the roof top and look west. I viewed my physical distance from the core of skid Row to the Skyline as a measure of progress. I was closer to the buildings. I had the feeling I was almost within grabbing range. However, mentally, I was still light years away from understanding. There was a huge mental moat that separated me from freedom, a moat as formidable as the bars in the skyline that separated me from the clear blue skies that I could see from my bunk in the county jail.
I moved to my present location. And yes, I was even closer to the Skyline. I was closer to the border of Skid Row. I realized that over a period of time, it made no difference to me where the physical border was. Mentally, I was crossing the moat. I was building my own bridge across the murky waters of mental imprisonment.
On Decemer 19, 2008, I went to my last class. It was over. I reached the end. I was free. I no longer had to do anything to fulfill the court requirements. I also realized that I no longer worried about if the felony would be reduced to a misdemeanor or not. I was going to make it. I had built a foundation of various sorts that insured me a future. I knew it. I believe it. I earned it.
Early this Christmas morning, I decided to look up John Wooden’s Pyramid of Success. I found a colorful picture of it and studied each building block. I read them. I never really studied them when I saw them as a young adult, in corporate training sessions, where the instructors made the pyramid a standard handout.
There it was. In front me was everything I had experienced from the moment I jumped into the pool at USC to train for the triathlon, purging my dependency on drugs, to crossing across the moat of mental and emotional freedom.----the path to self acceptance. FREEDOM. I had to develop each part of me as a team member and integrate each part of me into a team and push forward. I had to smile.
I looked it at the buildings on Christmas morning. The sky was not crisp and blue. It was cloudy. It was dreary but to me it was bright. It was cheery. Physically, I had not moved any closer to the buildings that used to be the Great Wall. However there was no more mental moat. I crossed it. I was embedded in the buildings. I was a part of them. I was on the other side. I was free. I stood there and looked at them and realized how grateful I was to have had the privilege of going through this journey, forging my mental steel in the raging fire and crucible of Skid Row.
I made a copy of the Wooden’s Pyramid of Success and it is now the background of my desktop. I stood in the window and looked at the cloudy Skyline. It was beautiful. I was out of the storm. I thought of everyone who helped me along the way, from the person in jail who kept screaming at me to keep writing, to the person on the street who screamed at the demons inside of himself. I learned from them all.

It no longer mattered whether I left immediately or stayed a while to do some work. I knew my blog was successful in that it helped me and it is a model for those to follow who are on that quest for freedom. It is not the elusive Holy Grail. It is attainable. I proved it. I knew without a doubt one very important fact.

I had graduated from the University of Skid Row.

I walked out of the door. I went to see my mother It is Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE.

Homeless Connect Day.(Queen of 7th Street)

2008-12-04T21:02:00.001-08:00

“Walter, what do you feel when you see a homeless person?” I was asked by someone who suddenly found themselves homeless and spent eight months sleeping outside in the courtyard of the Midnight Mission. In so many ways the question was profoundly poignant. It was a few days before Thanksgiving and I had been reviewing the last few years, revisited the path that I took from the day I was arrested until now. It was a terrifying time for the most part. There were many challenges ahead of me and each had its unique set of emotions with a Kaleidoscope of pain, fear, anxiety, and heartache that was specific to each one. Sure, I was thankful that I was not out in the cold but I feared that I would have no place to go. I feared that when I had someplace to go that my benefits would expire before I found a job. If that would have happened, after going from shelter bed to my own room, I would have been on the streets. No one gets points for being clean and sober if you cannot pay the rent. Skid Row is like any other place. One must pay to play particularly in your own rescue. Life is not free on Skid Row. Those who believe otherwise are naïve. Would I win or would time run out. It was a constant worry keeping me awake at night while roaches around me in my former room danced the night away.
Occasionally I would look out of the window, in the middle of the night, and see someone standing in the light or sitting on the ground. During rainy nights I could see plastic sheets crumpled on the ground knowing that beneath them was a person tucked inside trying to keep dry. I would not allow myself to feel too much. I was not as sorry for them as I was grateful I was not out there with them. Each morning I would wake up and begin the task anew of trying to find a job, trying to maintain the faith. Trying to take one more step in the tunnel of doom where it was dark and I could not see any light.
Finally, through the grace of God, I had a job. It was in the nick of time as my General Relief had expired. I was working and over a period of time as I became more confident that my job was not a dream, I began to feel, to believe that there was distant light at the end of the dark tunnel and a bright new day was emerging. As each day came and went, I believed more and more the lessons I was taught on Skid Row—to be positive and to have faith and that I would get through it.
I noticed more and more that all that I had to face was disappearing behind me and the burden of gloom and worry was being replaced by a peace and confidence. What was lost was being regained and there were things I was gaining that I had never before felt, or it had been so long ago that the antecedent experience of feeling no longer applied. It was a new day, a new time. I found it funny that I used to wear a business suit every day and had no confidence and lived every moment with an uneasiness that left a feeling similar to that when fingernails scratched a chalkboard. Now, on Skid Row, there is this growing fascination of experiencing self love while learning new things and gaining insights that I would not have acquired if Skid Row were not in my life.
I state in my profile that this journal is the thoughts and experiences while I am in the University of Skid Row. I am proud to be a student of this fine university. There is much to learn here and so few understand the broadband of its curriculum. One thing for certain is if one has spent any time here at this University, one understands pain. Whether one lives or works here, Skid Row allows you to understand pain(of course the flip side of joy as well). Whatever pain you felt before you arrived here is nothing compared to what you experience as you review your life. It is a healing process, if of course, the process itself does not kill you. It can do that is so many ways. From one’s own experience you become adept at recognizing it in body language and so many other ways. The eyes alone are a concentration of study in and of themselves. It is said that they are the eyes to the soul. True. But one must understand the language, the syntax of the meaning. Each variation is a font with its own accent and texture of story.
I thought of all of these things over the last few months as my confidence allowed me to thaw out my emotions and examine the condition of my homeless neighbors on Skid Row. Homelessness has many meanings. It creates different feelings when you look at each person. A person is homeless. There story is not homogenous. The feelings you get from talking to one is different when you talk to another. Each has their own brand of pain. It tastes differently from another. Being homeless within the boundaries of the Skid Row district is different than when one walks down Broadway or or the streets further west. People respond to homeless people differently. In Skid Row, though there is a social hierarchy, stratification, and in some cases a caste social order, respect is given to all while experiencing the common areas of the sidewalks and streets. As you leave Skid Row, the level of respect diminishes for those who are deemed to be from Skid Row, let alone concluded to be homeless. A level of distrainment surfaces as well as an abstract distrainment, respect taken away and to regain it only comes when paying the price of having a home.
I have said that Skid Row is a reflect of our society. And through the homeless we have the eyes of society’s soul. It is not pretty. It is replete with viruses.
I thought of these things over the last few months while wondering about a woman. I saw her one day. She was on Seventh St and Broadway. Bare footed, layers dirt embedded into the souls of her feet served as cushions as she navigated her way from trash can to trash can in search of food. I watched her as she had a striking presence. People avoided her. She was invisible to them. She was not a person. She was nothing to them-- less than an animal. She smelled, I am sure but nothing compared to the stench left by the people who walked by her not accepting her into the human family.
The lady was the lens into the souls of our society and its superficiality. And this occurred while many people across the country were edging toward homelessness themselves, losing homes, as the nation sank deeper into financial chaos. Perhaps it was the fear of being like her that made people ignore her. I understand that. That is a process one goes through when they first arrive on Skid Row, not wanting to be like the homeless instead of helping them.
On Thanksgiving Day I got off the bus at 7th and Broadway. There she was, the queen of 7th street. I wondered what her story was. Where is her family? What is her pain? I wondered if anyone cared. It was clear that no one had any use for her. I went into a store and bought something to get change. I walked out and gave her a couple of dollars. I had given her dollars in the past. Yet this time, I wanted to see her eyes. I wanted to connect with her. I wanted her to know me. I wanted to see her eyes. I wanted to understand her pain and translate that into her probable story.
Instead I received a lesson I did not count on. She sensed the money and reached out and grabbed the dollars. Her focus was on the means to survival, not her benefactor. She was supposed to be mentally ill, not capable of understanding anything—deranged. She understood one thing and made it clear as her eyes beamed into me with a fierceness I have not felt from anyone in quite some time. She knew that my giving her a couple of dollars did more for my soul than it did to help her survive a day. In the scheme of things, those dollars did nothing for her. They only served to prove that society did not understand. No matter what my level of sincerity, she saw through it and found the virus that was embedded in me, allowing me to identify where it was localized in my being.
Society has no use for her. Let me tell you something. She has no use for society. She knows what it is. She knows that those that those that spit on her are one paycheck away from being thrown from their high and mighty homes into the streets where they will join her. More importantly, she understands what it is not. She sees people for what they are and experiences every day what they are not. She has no use for us. She expects nothing from our spurious society.
It is Homeless Connect day across America, where social services make themselves visible and accessible in mass to the public. I felt compelled to reach out to society and have it connect to the homeless.
What do I feel when I see a homeless person? I feel this sums it up. To borrow the words of one to convey a concept I feel this way:
“ASK NOT WHAT YOU CAN DO FOR THE HOMELESS. ASK WHAT KNOWING, HELPING , OR UNDERSTANDING THE HOMELESS CAN DO FOR YOU?

Thanksgiving on Skid Row

2008-11-28T12:53:00.000-08:00

I returned from visiting my mother in the late afternoon. I put my laptop in the room and walked around the neignborhood. They were folding downt the stage at the Midnight Mission when I arrived. The entertainment was over and the reality of life, as experienced by these citizens of the United States, is the aftermath. As the holidays are experienced and enjoyed by many in this country, let us not lose sight of the fact that, while many during these holidays revisit the dreams and hopes they have for themselves and there families, there are, in this country, during holiday times, very scared, lonely and frightened people. They are in homes and warm apartments as well as on the streets of America.

They had special dreams, hopes and desires. They believed they would come true.
However as what happens more often than not in this world, the reality of life continually leaks upon us, and, in many ways, forms vast oceans that separate many from those islands of hopes and dreams that bring joy and peace to souls.

Some people can still see rheir dreams in the distant horizon and can hold on to a faith that they will be able to swim ashore and enjoy the blessings that each respective island brings. To others, those dreams and hopes are not visible or felt. they are beyond the visible horizon and have also beyond the feeling of their souls. These individuals feel lost and feel forgotten. I know what it is like to feel lost and forgotten.

Someone recently said "American is better than this." I hope we prove it because nobody in America should experience Thanksgiving Day like these people experienced Thanksgiving Day, 2008. There are many Skid Rows across America where people outside in the streets feel like they will never feel the warmth of being inside. There are people who are inside who feel they are outside or who fear being outside soon. It is a time for people in America to not isolate ourselves, but to reach out and link up and through our links form a strong chain of unity.

Lets pray for the people on the streets and pray that we can find within ourselves ways to help them. For to help them we help and enrich ourselves as well.

"America is better than this."

HIV Loneliness in Skid Row

2008-11-17T01:08:00.000-08:00

There is a phrase in the salutation before every class of the martial art Pentjak Silat , “Let my eyes see what they do not see.” I have many times asked that very same thing. I know there are things that I do not know about Skid Row. There are many things that I know escape my attention. Many times these things are right in front of me, but I am just not ready to see them.
I have been living in the Skid Row community for almost two years now. And as many have described it, Skid Row is a community where many of society’s unwanted and shunned has found themselves, whether by intent or circumstances that they did not control. I have found that people who could not talk about substance abuse problems can discuss them out in the open. Women who have been abused and were ashamed of their plight could gain support by seeking out someone who share a similar past.
I have came here as a client and now I work here and I serve those who have various challenges. Needless to say considerable insight into the life experiences of many who have challenges that are understood or even cared about by those outside of the Skid Row community.
I thought every person was visible and could openly discuss their problems and issues. Women and men talk about being disconnected from their families. They also talk about having their children taken away from them. They deal with that pain while fighting the addictions, in most cases, that brought about the reality of their present circumstance.
The transgender population is open and visible and they are shunned in most places. So I was led to believe that no matter who you are, you could walk up to almost anyone and you would have an open ear to which you could ask for guidance and direction. But I was wrong.
The HIV population in Skid Row does not walk around in open communication. I was in one meeting, in early 2007, in which a person talked about being HIV positive. They are in the shelters but no one knows who they are because of confidentiality laws. Two men died in the shelter that I was in and I did not know they were HIV positive until they died.
I interviewed for a position recently. I would have interfaced with HIV clients. It was talked about in a very matter of fact fashion. There was no judgment in the attitude of the project managers in referring to their clients. The case workers view them as clients and are there to support them. But in the community at large, a community in which they are embedded, they walk and suffer in silence. They cannot openly discuss their problems with anyone they see. To do so would begin a wild brush fire of gossip and finger pointing. Soon they would be isolated from others in the neighborhood. In a community where most of the residents are shunned by outsiders, the residents shun a segment of their own population. Ironic isn’t it. In a community where sex partners are traded on a regular basis, where people practice unsafe sex or share needles to use drugs, you would think that there would be more compassion. However, I guess there is a social stratification in every society and in the Skid Row Community does not escape that social dynamic and all of the ugliness that can accompany it.
I wonder if there will be hope for the HIV population in the next four years. Will they get the attention and understanding they deserve. When there is so much suffering in our country, I speculate that people will be more concerned with their own security and have little energy to worry about those that are already forgotten by most of society. In a community where there is so much suffering, it is clear that there are levels of suffering. The suffering has characteristics unique to its specific category.
Jubal and Cheryl Rade of the HIV Alliance in Eugene, Oregon put together this video. Three individuals talk about what it is like to live after being diagnosed as HIV positive. I hope this video teaches people to have more compassion for others. Many in Skid Row suffer like these three individuals. If there is going to be change in America, let us also change the way we treat eachother. Understand the pain of your fellow man or woman. Thank you.

Skid Row Women's League

2008-11-12T20:43:00.000-08:00

The Skid Row 3 on 3 Street Basketball League now has a women's division. This fall the league added on a women's division. In a community where the institutions have been created and designed have largely designed services to answer the needs of men, to the exclusion of women AND families, the Skid Row 3 on 3 Street Basketball League has embraced women into its agenda of community outreach. Currently there are two women's teams and OG, the league commissioner, is very excited about the involvement of women in the league. "They are much better than the men. The men will show up to the games but the women will show up to all of the meetings. They are getting involved in the total planning process. They are used to that type of activity because they take care of kids and the family so they are accustomed to keeping an eye on the details", commented OG.
I was sitting next to OG when he was talking to his staff about the women. He suddenly softened his tone and shared with them a very special moment. It was during a woman's game when a woman limited skills had been struggling during the game realized that she had possession of the ball in the last two seconds of the game. The game was tied. She desperately tried to find a stronger team mate to whom she could pass the ball. There was no time left so she took the last shot. The ball bounced around the hoop before it sank through the nets. She made the game winning basketball.

The woman was more shocked and relieved than happy but her teammates ran to her, hugged her and gave her a round of high fives. It was a confidence building moment and you could see it developing within her. "That is what this league is about. We build confidence in our league members and you could just see hers building right in front of your eyes."

America Has Spoken Very Clearly. Elects Its First Black President

2008-11-06T19:26:00.000-08:00

Historic Voting Day

2008-11-04T22:32:00.000-08:00

This morning, I pulled myself up and struggled with my socks and shoes while marginally navigating my way toward the store that had my needed cup of coffee. I could not sleep as the anticipation of the previous not of today's historic event kept me awake. I descended downtown stairs in an elevator and heard a buzz of noise that was foreign to my ears.
The elevator door opened and when I disembarked from it, I noticed that another door leading from the elevator follyeah to the main lobby was closed-an aberration. Faces were behind it. Many faces with no bodies as the door only had a small viewing piece of glass. I opened it and found a long line of people. Ah yes. It was election day and people were in my lobby to vote.
I voted in the primary and was not certain if I was allowed to vote. In the primary there was no line. This time there was a line that snaked from the voting room through the lobby and out of the door and extended down the street. It was beautiful to see. Indeed it was an historic day.

I talked with some who were had been on Skid Row for some time. They said that it was the first time that lines were so long. In the past a voter could walk right in, vote and be on their way within minutes.

Yes folks, I voted. I, like many others, believed we couldn't. Well, I found out I could vote. I could participate in this historic day in America.

jazz musicians on skid row

2008-11-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

Downtown Los Angeles dwellers are interested in the arts. In fact the proliferation of the art galleries in downtown Los Angeles arguably paved the way for additional development in downtown. Cultural events and activities are also an important part of the New Skid Row. The Skid Row Art Exhibit, a few months ago, was the first of its kind in the Skid Row community. The Skid Row Photo Club has started and is increasing in popularity. Indeed there is a strong interest in the arts as well in Skid Row. In some cases the elements of birth that you find sprouting up in the Skid Row community are reminiscent of the Harlem Rennaissance movement in New York in the 1920's and 1930's.

There are people who very dedicated in elevating their artful expression and some of them can be seen every day on the north east corner of Maple and 7th streets. This is a very short clip of them playing Summertime.

EX FELONS CAN VOTE IN CALIFORNIA

2008-10-30T11:09:00.000-07:00

When I was in jail trying to figure out whether to plead guilty or innocent, one of my concerns was my right to vote. Of course my public defender gave me a very short period of time to decide."You have 60 seconds to make this deal otherwise you will do 8 years in prison," she barked. Truth had nothing to do with the issue at hand. she was more concerned about her docket schedule.

"Will I be able to vote?" I agonized, as she looked at me with such impatience She had this look on her face as though such a guestion is not relevant.

Her snarled another response holding back the expression of an impatient growl. "No, you can forget about that. You can forget about everything."

Well my friends. She was wrong. I can vote. The link below will connect you to an article done by New America Media that clarifies the issue of voter eligibility of ex felons in California.

New America Media did an article about this issue. I just found it. It was too late in some respects because the deadline to register to vote is past. However, for those who are registered and have recent felony convictions you may be in luck. The article is a good resource reference.

I tried to link the page of the article but it would not take for some reason. So in lieu of that option, I pasted the article. You can also go to New America Media. Scroll down to about 2/3of the page and you will see a link to All Ethnic Media Articles. Click that link and then click page three and you will find the article. If that is too much energy then read the article below. thank you.
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In California Ex-Felons Can Vote

Black Voice News, News Report, Chris Levister , Posted: Oct 20, 2008

Undaunted by the heat, ex-felon Curtis Griffin spends his late summer afternoons walking Rialto and Fontana's bleakest neighborhoods on the hunt for ex-cons - each a potential voter who might cast the decisive ballot in the historic November 4 national election.

Finding them isn't the hard part, explains Griffin, it's getting them to admit that a past mistake has kept them from the ballot box.

At voter registration events like this, activists and election officials are spreading the word: ‘For the record, felons can vote’

"Most ex-felons out here are under the false assumption they can't vote. In California you can vote! There's a lot of misinformation and confusion out there."

That's an understatement. Consider this: a 2001 U.S. Civil Rights Commission report concluded that the disenfranchisement of ex-convicts is "the biggest hindrance to Black voting since the poll tax."

The racial impact of racial disenfranchisement laws is particularly egregious. Thirteen percent of all Black men - 1.4 million cannot vote due to a patchwork of voting restrictions and the paralyzing grip of post Civil War Jim Crow laws. That represents just over one-third (36 percent) of the total disenfranchised population blocked from the vote even after they have completed their sentence and paid their debt to society: a rate seven times that of any other group in America.

The effects of voter disenfranchisement are universal except for Maine and Vermont, all states deprive individuals with felony convictions of the right to vote for varying periods of time.

In California where the criminal justice system remains particularly rife with racial disparities, advocates like Griffin and nonprofits groups like Voting Rights for All are hard at work spreading the word: "In California ex-felons can vote."

Under California law, people with felony convictions can register to vote if they are out of prison (fully served their sentences) and off parole.

Although most of the state's voting code was passed in 1974, these important legal rights have been mostly hidden, unspoken and unknown by the general public.

Last week during a Bible study at the Rock Church in San Bernardino, Melvin Stokes lamented about felons not having the right to vote.

"I've always wanted to vote... it has always been told to me that if you were convicted of a felony, you can't vote," said the ex-felon who has been off parole 10 years.

The misconception is not just among ex-felons. "I thought people convicted of felonies lost their right to vote. I see now it must be a common misconception," said a retired Alameda County judge, quoted in the San Francisco Chronicle, October 16, 2004.

To return to the ballot box, felons must negotiate suffrage laws that vary from state to state, in many cases working with election officials, parole officers and judges who can be both unfamiliar with the law and hostile to former convicts seeking to register.

Such challenges matter little to Griffin and others trying to return former criminals to voter rolls, an effort they consider crucial in light of the results of the past two presidential elections: A shift of a few hundred votes in Florida in 2000 would have changed the outcome of the presidential race, and the results in 2004 came down to a margin of 119,000 votes in Ohio.

The nonprofits groups and individual activists making the push on felons' behalf agree the effort is broader this year than in previous elections. They expect the effort to benefit Barack Obama more than John McCain, given that the population of former felons is disproportionately Black.

Who Can Register?

A person entitled to register to vote must be a U.S. citizen, a resident of California, not in prison or on parole for the conviction of a felony, and at least 18 years of age.

You can vote after you have completed parole. There is no waiting period and you do not have to prove that you are off parole. Election officials have access to parole status data. You can vote if you are on probation, or have completed probation. If you have been charged with a felony but not yet been convicted; If you have been convicted of a felony but are in county jail and not in state prison.

You must register by October 20. Pick up a registration form at your local library or post office. If you are in county jail, ask a friend or family member to pick up a form for you or request one through jail authorities.

Use your home address or your residence address. The registration form is a legal document that requires your signature and either a California driver's license/ID card number or the last four digits of your Social Security number. If you are not sure you are registered, voting officials encourage you to register again.

LAPD Officer Involved Shooting In Skid Row

2008-10-28T21:50:00.000-07:00

At approximately12:00 PM,a LAPD officer shot a man near the intersection of 6th and Stanford in the Skid Row neighborhood. According to individuals who were standing around the scene as well as those with whom I talked later in various neighborhood gathering spots, a man, considered to be in his early 50's, was asked to stop and be questioned by two passing motorcycle officers. The man complied.
The officers approached the man and it was then, according to witnesses, that the man removed a large knife from his pocket and brandished it.
Everyone with whom I talked agrees on those facts. From that point on there is not a unanamous version of the facts. According to some witnesses, the police officers told the man to drop the knife several times. He did not comply while hurling obscenities at the police officers. (It was widely believed that the man suffered from mental illness.) The man, according to some witnesses, lunged at the police officers in an apparent attempt to attack them.
Others state that the man did not attempt to attack the police officers. Some people believed that there was enough distance between the man and the police officers so that the officers were not in danger. Others believe that there was not sufficient distance believe the officers and the man. In any case, according to those who talked with me, the man was shot twice; once in the chest and once in the leg.

The above photos were taken at approximately 3:00PM where there were still numerous investigators at the cordoned of intersection.

SRO Housing Hosts Residents Appreciation Day

2008-10-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

On Friday, October 17, SRO Housing Corp. held its annual Resident's Appreciation Day picnic. It was held at Gladys Park, in the Skid Row community, with festivities beginning at 10:00 AM. All of the residents in the SRO operated buildings were invited. There was plenty of food and drink for all. Anita Nelson, the Executive Director of SRO Housing,
loves raffles. She made sure that everyone knew that at the recent employee picnic at Elysian Park and held true to the tradition at SRO events by having a huge raffle at the end of the day.In the top picture you see Anita Nelson, Executive Director, SRO Housing, on the right, joined by her assistant Jonna McCarthy, and the new Director of Housing, Charles Lim.
The Charming woman in the sun shades, in the next picture, is Sue Pervatt, Supervisor of Human Resources. She is joined by Case Manager Terry Furlough as masters of ceremonies for the SRO raffle.

I attended the event last year for a brief moment. This year I stayed a little longer. My perspective is different as now I have been in Skid Row longer and I work here as well as live. I was surprised at how much the residents looked forward to the event. I was asked during the week when it was going to start and how long it was going to last. Interestingly enough, the employees looked forward to it as much as the residents. The event provides a diversion from daily toils but it also is one of the staple events that provides and encourages community cohesion.

MONEY WAS STOLEN--A CHALLENGING CLASS AT THE UNIVERSITY OF SKID ROW. I GAINED MORE FROM THE EXPERIENCE THAN I EVER COULD FROM HAVING THE MONEY

2008-10-21T14:38:00.000-07:00

This jar was my most favorite possession. I know longer have it. It was stolen. Someone walked into my room and stole it. When I took this picture, the jar was approximately 25 percent full. This past Sunday, it was 70 percent full. It was a source of deep pride to me. I started saving the coins when I was in the Transition House. I would collect cans and with that money, I would purchase tobacco. There would always be change, and I would put the change in a little bottle. The change would be used to wash clothes. I watched the little bottle fill up. I did not have any quarters when I first arrived on Skid Row. I had nothing. I had to wash my clothes by hand in the sink for the first two months I was in that facility, until I saved enough money to wash them in the machine. Another couple of months past by month before I felt I could spend the extra quarters to both wash and dry them by machine. Those quarters traveled with me from the Transition House to the Marshall house. They were never spent.
I made sure I had money to wash clothes. I purchased two roles of quarters, when I first moved into the Marshall House. It was my self- insurance plan to prepare for the day when I may not have any money and still needed to wash clothes. Those roles went into the bottle. The bottled filled up to capacity. I never touched those rose of quarters. There was a bottle of quarters from which I could always grab a couple just to clean clothes. I never touched those quarters for any other reason. Furthermore, I would never spend any change from the dollar bills I spent during the day. All change went into that bottle. It was my security blanket. On Skid Row, one develops them whenever and wherever one can.
One bottle led to another one. I outgrew that one as well. In the meantime two wonderful friends, Kevin and Debbie, gave me a big jar of cookies for Christmas. They knew I had a thing for Chocolate chip cookies. Once finished, I decided to use that jar as my next holder of quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. The jar had a lid that I could flip open so I would not have to unscrew it each time I need put coins in it. It made things more convenient and more efficient. Efficiencies, economies and increase productivity are the themes that I strive to exercise and improve upon in every area of my life each day.
Each day I saw that jar, it was a living shrine as to what can be done- what can be built from scratch. When I moved to the Courtland, where I am now, it was the very first thing that I moved. It was my little baby that I would not let out of my sight. It kept growing and growing. I kept looking at it and it reinforced in me every day that anything can be done. I felt the spirit. I felt my friends that gave me that jar.
It was special for another reason. I used to see jars of coins at the homes of my friends all of my life. Everyone has a catch all jar. Some of them hold a potpourri of items-paperclips, rubber bands etc. along with loose change. Many jars or bottles were filled with coins at the homes of my friends. They never needed the money which left me pretty much perplexed. How could they have money in the bank AND jars filled with coins and never need to use the change? The answer eluded my grasp like water slipping through the fingers of a hand. And yet the answer was so simple. They did not spend every dollar they had on addicted substances, let alone expensive ones. Of course, all are expensive in one way or another.
Each time, I put a coin into that bottle I appreciated more and more how things can be built and developed. Each time I put a coin in the jar, I thought of my friends and the trust and faith they had in me when they invited me to their home for Christmas. They gave me the strength to carry on. I am in the process of paying for my mother’s car and I thought about using the coins for that. Easily there was a couple hundred dollars in that jar, probably much more. The jar was famous with a couple of people who knew about it, people that one would not mind knowing about it because they would not try and still it. In fact, they encouraged me to keep saving. Sounds funny that I would even mention that but I am living on Skid Row and those considerations must always be remembered.
I forgot those considerations, momentarily.. I was so happy to move into the Courtland. I thought it was so different from most buildings on Skid Row and indeed it is. But it is a Skid Row building and recently I was reminded of it when I talked to someone who knows the building well. I asked about the tenants and was told that, yes, many of the people in it still consume drugs (I have also begun to smell the fragrance of marijuana coming through the doors when I walked my units in the hallway). Yes, there is a high turnover. In six months, the building has experienced a great deal of turnover in the residents. “Walter, some of the residents of have told me that they don’t care if they get kicked out. They just want a roof over their heads for a while. The fact is many of them still live like they are living on the streets. They don’t care and they just go out and relapse and they do not want anything. “That was the response when I asked about someone who lived on my floor. His message to me was urgent
That message was a wake up call. I did not heed it. I left my door open. I must have. It would have been easy to blame the building management for allowing someone to have access to the key. After all this is Skid Row. Thieves are everywhere. Sure, the manager of the building had resigned on the previous day. The jar was taken the day after he resigned. “Was it an inside job?” The potential was there. The security camera, facing my door, was the only camera that was out of order. “Was it an inside job? Was it a conspiracy?” The evidence was mounting and it was easy to conclude that it was a conspiracy. It was easier to do that than to look at what had a greater probability of occurrence. And that was that someone who lived in the building, either walked into my room, or let someone in the building that walked into my room and took the jar with the coins. It was easy to begin to conclude their was a conspiracy, in house, than it was to take responsibility for my own actions, or lack thereof. That meant that I must hold myself responsible for not locking my door.
Yes, I was too comfortable in here. Yes, my instincts told me to slow down a minute and lock the door. But no, I did not do that. I looked at the building like a college dorm, where you can keep the doors unlocked much of the time. I let myself be lulled into a false since of comfort because of the quiet and RELATIVE serenity that is the essence of the atmosphere here. I forgot that inner city university dorms are targets for those who want to prey on the naive and trusting. I did not pay attention to the man that informed me of the tremendous turnover of tenants in the building due to relapse. I discounted what was beneath the surface, like a calm sea that hides the strong undercurrents beneath, which can carry you deep into sea. I forgot that I lived on Skid Row.

Immediately I went downstairs and found a manager. We looked at the films. "The camera did not work", he explained. I was fuming. I was a victim. I focused in on it. After all, I had no choice. I was violated.
Ah, but that is the point. Was I a victim or a volunteer? Did I have no choice or did I have to recognize that I had a very important choice to make? Would I accept responsibility or would I allow myself to get distracted by directing my attention to something that would keep me stuck and stalled, the same type of stagnation that I experienced so long while I was using cocaine.
With each level of progress that one experiences in this recovery trail, there comes with it a set of challenges. The challenges are not as visible as the highly visible chains of controlled substance consumption where the consumer chooses not to see the signs that are so plainly in sight. No, these binds are not the big and very visible chain like links similar to the ones that keeps ships tethered in the water when they drop anchor. No, these chains are small and transparent, and yet, just as strong, like the fish lines that snag big game marlin in the deep sea. They never see the line but once they are snagged, the struggle and fight for a long time, not knowing what it is that has them tethered. So in effect the do the same damage as the visible big heavy chain links. They keep one stuck.
Making the wrong choice could have kept me stuck. It would have been easy. I would have been worried and obsessed about the money instead of taking care of certain things. I had an appointment at 10:00 AM that morning with a young man to take photos of me for Chrysalis. Evidently the photos and accompanying story about me were slated to be in a publication for one of their events. My appointment with the man was scheduled to take place one hour after the discovery of the theft.
“I will tell the man I have only five minutes to give him,” I said to myself. Instinctively, however, something told me I was taking the wrong approach in handling the latest challenge that came my way. I grabbed the computer and immediately Google searched for the best way to handle the feelings of anger and fear anger that are born from a burglary experience. (Those anger management classes, deserved or not, were yielding fruit, weren’t they? Made me take a step back). I found several academic articles but I found a New York Times article about a dentist that fell into drug addiction after a divorce. She had been abused by her father and her husband prior to the divorce. She lost her practice an began living on the streets and burglarized apartments in Lower Manhattan, New York City, to finance and maintain her heroin habit. She faced losing her license to practice dentistry after she was arrested for burglary charges. Eventually she cleaned up her life and dedicated herself to surviving HIV/AIDS patients. It reminded me of not only how far I have come but the responsibility I have to continue to grow and lead by example as the dentist in New York. Upon researching her phone number, I called her and left her a message of encouragement as she was facing sentencing that day for her former crimes. I know how uncertain life looked to her the morning she was going court. I have been there.
I felt better. I felt I helped someone. It got my mind off the money. I did something to help someone just like a fellow student at Penn did something for me right after she was sexually assaulted near the Penn campus. I remembered that and my experience seemed so minor relative to what she had endured.
I thought I was going to give the man five minutes to film me but we talked for five hours. In those five hours, I learned many things that could help me in my endeavors. Subsequently I talked to other people and learned more things and was able to apply the things I learned in advancing the understanding of the creative process.
None of it ever would have occurred if I had obsessed on the burglary. I would have been just as stuck had I chose to do cocaine after the burglary.
I made that breakthrough and, in doing so, I was able to tie the strings tight on some loose ends that I let go for a while. I have been learning so much and doing so much that I was not taking care of the details of certain matters. One unresolved matter led to another and I felt overwhelmed. I was worrying about not taking care of certain things as I was busy trying to forge ahead. Forging head is good but in doing so, new time demands are required. If I don’t take care of them as well as the matters left unattended, then the laces of the shoes unravel and everything falls apart.
It is easy to drift back into the anxious feeling because I lived with it so long in the past, worrying about things instead of taking care of them. I became overwhelmed and the feelings of helplessness would overtake me and so I would anesthetize myself with cocaine. The difference now, from hard work and self monitoring every day, I recognize that feeling of anxiousness that I used to live with like calluses on one’s feet. They are there but you still walk but life is uncomfortable and limited. The difference is now I have felt and have breathed that fresh air of freedom so much that my system will not allow myself to go back in any kind of way
I could have been trapped but I hose to be free and in doing so, I made breakthroughs. Got more things done. I developed more strength. I developed more focus. I fought with myself and won so I could advance further in life. You will see shortly the results of that growth.That is what I can give to those who are climbing the latter of rebuilding their lives. Don’t be distracted. Focus on what is important. Be honest with yourself. Don’t look at what is on the surface. Always look at what lies beneath the surface. The snakes that bite you are not the ones you see. Pay attention to details. That is where the challenges are at the higher loves of development. Pay attention to them and all will be well. It is funny that paying attention to more and more details, in the pursuit of development, reduces the risk for so much.
I had a major victory. I turned a negative into a positive. Kevin and Debbie, I felt the spirit. You told me to be focused. I have been. The jar is gone but the lessons learned from it are, in value, much greater than the amount of money in that jar.
Whoever you are, thank you for stealing my money. It gave me the opportunity to see where I am in many ways. I must go. I feel the spirit of success. It feels good. I am at a higher level. I know that now.
It took me a long time to do this blog. A lot has transpired in my life since the last post. I fought many battles. I prevailed. I am a different person. Funny how things happen.
The journey continues and it is becoming more fun as I feel myself grow into what I envision to be. This was a very challenging class at the University of Skid Row
Good night world, I love you.

My View of Skid Row (Part 2) --First Year Anniversary of Scribeskidrow. Recovery programs on Skid Row

2008-10-07T20:57:00.000-07:00

Last week I wrote Part One of my View of Skid Row, One Year Anniversary of Scribeskidow. After doing so, I had to figure out what I was going to write in Part Two. I knew it was going to be difficult as it is probably one of the touchiest subjects on Skid Row. It is the subject of Cocaine and Cocaine Recovery. There are many viewpoints about this subject. My own viewpoints have shifted over time as I received more information and personal knowledge about the topic.
I remember clicking the publishing button when I finished writing ‘My View of Skid Row’. My post flew into the internet for anyone to see. Perhaps it would add a morsel of insight to someone who had any need to know about the plethora of topics that Skid Row touches. But what was I going to write concerning cocaine? I walked out of my building and the first thing I saw was a counselor who worked at the Transition House when I was there. She had not seen me in a while and wanted to catch up on my activities. I decided to keep my promise to see her so I made my way over there. I figured that on my way I could see things and review the past year to gain some type of perspective.
I saw several men when I hit the corner of 5th and Wall Street. They were with me when I landed at the Transition House. They did not recognize me. It used to surprise me that people with whom I lived in a facility would not remember me a few months later—would not even notice me while they were walking down the street wearing the Skid Row version of the Vietnam 1000 yard stare on their faces. Some have been in and out of jail or shelters so much that it would be impossible to remember anyone. Some people give information out on a need to know basis. The brain in Skid Row or in jail remembers information on a need to know basis, usually it is based on the need to survive. Once there is no need to know the name of someone because that person is not integral to the need of survival it is deleted quickly. Indeed, so many people go in and out of those facilities that it would be in possible to remember names. The relationships are temporary. The need to remember is temporary.
The Los Angeles Mission was full. The courtyard was filled with people. Everybody was busy. What they were busy doing was another question. I seemed to identify an aura, something distinctive about the atmosphere that I had not noticed previously. I took note of it and filed it away in my memory bank .It was just in time because a loud noise assaulted my eardrums. “Cavi, Cavi. Weed. Weed “pierced my consciousness and violated my sanctity. Oh yes, it had been a while since I had to navigate my way daily through that barrage of never ending assaults by those who sell cocaine and marijuana.
I continued to walk and began to see more familiar faces as I made my way to the Transition House. A man was ever vigilant sitting on the ground against the wall of a corner store. Another man, across the street, was still sorting things in his cart. It was as if he had been doing the same thing, non-stop, since the last time I passed the same spot.
Finally I arrived at the Transition House. The lady who I wanted to see was not there so I spoke to Larry, a man who, like others, kept me sane while I was there. I briefed him on my activities and asked him for direction. I always ask people for direction on Skid Row. I noticed that some faces were missing so, finally, I asked. “Where is Michael”?
“Walter, Michael is in jail. In fact, he is on his way to prison. They caught him selling drugs on San Julian St. He will do four years in prison.” Michael was another that kept me sane
“Where is Shannon?”
“Shannon relapsed. She did not come back one night. They say she is on Gladys turning tricks.” Shannon kept telling me not to lose faith. It hurt to hear that she was back in the streets.
After hearing about Shannon, immediately, I thought about Connie. Connie was in the Strive program, a small program that has struggled to keep its clients from returning to drugs and street life. I had seen her the day before at the Recovery Month Celebration Day at the Central Division police station. The last time I saw her, before seeing her at the celebration was a few months ago. She had graduated from the program. She was on her way to Florida to see her new grandchild, and then back to Las Vegas. I thought she was in Las Vegas but she told me that she had been in Los Angeles for several weeks. She had returned to her original treatment program. She told me to call her. I called her the very next night as I could see that she needed encouragement. She encouraged me every day when I used the computer lab to publish my blog. I called the program. She had checked out. No one has heard from her.
Stories like those that I have shared are everyday life in Skid Row. Every day somebody relapses. Often those that relapse die on Skid Row. I find it poignant that I share with you these stories. Last month was Recovery Month. I walked into my bank and saw a man on the CNN Channel. He was advertising his book. His name was Chris Prentiss. He owns and operates a substance abuse facility in Malibu. I read about him in the LA Weekly newspaper. It presented a series of articles on recovery programs and his was spotlighted. To some he is a revolutionary. To others he is a snake oil salesman, selling promises to desperate families members that he can cure their loved ones. The family members are vulnerable. It does not take much for a seasoned salesman to figure out what to say.
Some say that you need to spend $50,000 a month to get cured. In Malibu they have private rooms, spas and private therapists. On Skid Row, if you are lucky, you may get a room with only one other person. More than likely you have to share it with three other people. And you must earn the right to get that room. You must pay your dues. Initially one must stay in a dormitory.
Does the price of recovery guarantee better results? I forget the doctor’s name but he works out of Beverly Hills. Channel 2 interviewed him after a couple of actresses were arrested for cocaine possession. He found that eighty percent of patients of these expensive treatment centers relapse, usually, within twenty four hours of leaving the facility. He believed that the doctors facilities had no idea what they were doing.
I was reading textbooks on drug recovery and the general consensus was that 95 percent of people relapse within two years. In that particular book, they interviewed former cigarette smokers who abuse cocaine and the majority of former cigarette smokers stated that it was more difficult to stop smoking cigarettes than it was to stop doing cocaine.
On Skid Row, the recidivism rate is very high for drug users. The very first thing that was stated in the first Cocaine Anonymous meeting that I sat in on was that 95 percent of the people in that room would not make it. Indeed, the relapse rate in Skid Row is high. I asked a Case Manager what was the relapse rate of people who were in that program? He told me that 95 percent relapse within two years of leaving the facility.
I was at the facility recently and talked to people that were there when I was there. I was told that all but three individuals who were there when I first moved in have relapsed. They are either in the streets, having lost their housing, or are in jail or prison. What makes that figure frightening is that SRO Housing Corporation takes great pains in providing the best possible environment for success. They test people regularly and if they discover a person tests dirty for drug use, the person is asked to leave. The company does not want one person to start an epidemic of drug use among the other clients.
Some people feel as though the system is designed for people to relapse. They believe the programs are flawed and the choice of treatment methods is too few.
I believe one thing to be very true about those that attend treatment programs on Skid Row. Most of the people who are in treatment programs are court ordered. They have been ordered to attend these programs. They are there to fulfill court requirements. One cannot assume that they are all in these programs for the same reasons. Not everyone has the desire to be clean and sober. They have the desire to stay out of jail. Indeed, many who are in these programs, who are court ordered, have stated that they would have preferred to just do their time in prison. They believe that it is inevitable they will relapse and thus be sent back to prison anyway. Why delay the inevitable is their point of view.
It can be argued that the high relapse rate in Skid Row is due to the fact that the motivation is external. Also, there is a school of thought in Skid Row to basically make it acceptable to relapse. Some lecturers tell people that they are helpless against the drug so that relapse is inevitable. I believe they say that because they relapsed and they feel as though the same must be true for everyone else. But everyone is different. Once that becomes the mantra, that everyone will relapse, then it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy. When a person is sick and things are going great, it is not uncommon for the sick person to have the propensity to search for something wrong. A sick person, who is only accustomed to being sick, goes out of his way to find something wrong because the invisible prison is a known quantity. Freedom from it is an unknown quantity. Therefore, the person is more comfortable with the prison he/she already knows than the bliss of the unknown. Change, even positive change, can be very traumatic and people are afraid to go it alone. In most cases, sobriety means that most people must leave behind everyone they have ever known. Many were socialized into a life of drugs, alcohol, crime and institutionalization. Freedom means walking away from everything in life they have experienced. It is not easy.
Some say the case workers don’t care. It is true some case workers do not care. They go to work to get a pay check. Were they always that way or were they let down so many times by the those in whom they had such an emotional investment that they no longer can afford to put additional emotional investment into their clients.
Then I think of several men who went through programs on Skid Row. One of them is Orlando Ward, the Director of Recovery Services and Public Affairs for the Midnight Mission. Two others are Wesley and Aaron, who went to the Harbor Lite program. The last one is Andrew Conner, the Resources Coordinator for People Against The Homeless (PATH). I read an article about Orlando Ward. He was very open in how he just had hit rock bottom and surrendered. He had gone to several programs before he entered the Midnight Mission. The final time he wanted it so badly he did it the right way. He no longer rationalized thoughts or past behavior. He took full responsibility for failed relationships and a failed marriage. He put aside his ego and worked at different jobs. He paid back taxes. He built building blocks towards his long term recovery.
“Walter, I did not feel that I was worth too much of anything, “said Aaron. “I had no education. He did not complete high school. Did not think I was going to amount to anything but someone told me I was going to smoke crack forever. I was determined at that very moment, when he said that , that I was not going to smoke that poison forever. “ He had no formal education. None at all and yet he was able to navigate himself to the absolute core of truth and acceptance of himself. He has been in recovery for twelve years.
“Walter, I lived on the streets for five years. You know me but you would not have known me in those years. I was an animal and lived like one. I spent money on cocaine instead of food and after smoking my cocaine, I dug in trash cans for food. I must have been deranged, “ said Wesley. That was a profundity of his statement and the courage that he displayed by sharing his most private beliefs with me was absolutely awesome.
“I crawled into the detox program on Crocker St. Walter. I owe everything that I am to the programs on Skid Row,” said Andrew. All of those men feel that way. I have not talked to Orlando Ward but I am sure he feels the same way. His life work is on Skid Row. Everywhere a Midnight Mission truck is seen it is usually at an event to encourage people to stay on the path of recovery.
Those three statements of truth are statements from men who lived in the streets. Men, in general, will tell you what they think. Maybe. Men, in general will not tell you what they feel. Many men may not know what they feel because their feelings are encased in concrete type barriers from themselves like gold nuggets buried deep in the ground. However, if they were to discover those feelings, they would discover riches far beyond their wildest dreams. Let us be clear about this. Men in the streets will not tell you certain truths about themselves. The rules of survival in the streets preclude any healthy truth to someone else. It would be viewed as a weakness. One would become a target for prey by someone who mistakenly held the misguided male doctrine that truth was a weakness instead of a certain sign of strength. These men from the streets displayed tremendous growth and strength sharing with me such intimate self-truths. They also planted seeds in me that took time in germinating but would eventually grow sprouts of truth and acceptance that are getting stronger every day.
That is what I noticed. All of these men are honesty, not only with themselves, but with others. The seeds that were planted in me kept growing into a lake of honesty where I can swim everyday and discover new truths and understand the past. I do not have to have a mask. I can accept how I was because I was ill.
I kept looking at Skid Row. People are categorized as a drug user or mentally ill, as if the two are mutually exclusive. Then one day it hit me like a Mack truck going 100 miles per hour. I was looking at people walking down the street and for some reason I thought of an economics statement that savings=investment. If you do one you are simultaneously building the other. Well, I stood there and said to myself, “Smoking Cocaine=mental illness”. If I am doing the former I am increasing developing the latter. There was no way to escape the truth.
That is the beauty of being in an environment where you can find people who are in different stages of recovery. You can ask questions and listen. I have asked many questions and as I told you just those few statements that those men made to me struck a chord and I have been learning how to play that chord freely and effortlessly since then. What I mean is I have learned to become honest with myself.
Things that I could not accept, I now can accept. Those men led who shared certain truths with me led by example. They gave me a glimpse of what recovery is and can be. Only recently have I begun to understand recovery. It has been over two years since I have done any drugs. As time has progressed, I can see that I am beginning to see and understand things as well as accept the things that eluded my grasp in the past. Much of that success I owe to asking people questions and they took the time to share with me. Many times I could not understand what they were saying. Other times I could understand but not appreciate what they were saying. Over time I learned how to understand and appreciate.
I am now able to say to myself that I was mentally ill while I was doing cocaine. Seeing so clearly how smoking cocaine=mental illness in Skid Row, I have been able to understand how I was developing mental illness in a variety of ways by smoking cocaine. Once you accept and understand that, it is easy to push the ball of understanding downhill and connect the dots for additional insight.
$50,000 dollar per month programs has an abysmal a success rate in treating drug addiction as a free program. Nobody has the answer. One thing is clear. Those that are successful in recovery are extremely motivated. One must be extremely motivated to succeed. Along with motivation, one must be willing to manifest that motivation into long term results. One must be ready, willing and able to commit himself to the task at hand. It is not easy. The one thing I can say about Skid Row is that you are in an environment where there exists a high concentration of individuals who are in different stages of recovery. Each and every one of them is willing to spend whatever time it takes to listen to the questions of anyone who is serious about changing their life. I have never been turned away by the men and women of Skid Row. Do not count on the Case Workers. Count on yourself. In recovery one must discard the skin of institutionalization. One must expect that the programs to do everything for them. The programs are not the housing authority. They cannot give you a place to live permanently. They are not the welfare office. They cannot give you a check.
ASK NOT WHAT A RECOVERY PROGRAM CAN DO FOR YOU. ASK WHAT YOU CAN DO FOR YOUR OWN RECOVERY. It is not the program that makes the recovery. It is the environment of Skid Row that provides the emotional support for one to learn and understand everything must learn in order to succeed. There are hundreds of coaches that can tell you if you are moving too fast. They will be honest with you. They are around and they are not hard to find. So I tell everybody that Skid Row has done a lot for me in understanding recovery and the people of Skid Row have helped me survive the process of recovery so I can begin to taste the fruits of my labor. The environment is excellent if even if the respective programs fall short of expectations. However, a person’s personal recovery is more than a program. A program is only a part of it. It is the people that one meets along the way that make the difference. Funny how people make the difference is most things.
So that is how I view recovery in Skid Row after my first year here. I am thankful for the environment. As I said from the beginning, I called this the University of Skid Row. In any university one can find someone to help them study. Someone can find someone with whom they can waste time and goof off. In Skid Row, you can find someone to do drugs or you can find someone to help you understand and build a life without drugs. You cannot find a better place than this in many ways. Yes it is a warehouse in some respects. People will vacillate here until they go to jail, prison or die. No doubt about it. But for the person who has done drugs. The choice is yours. Make the right one. Do not hold a program accountable for your recovery. It is not the program's life. It is your life. Hold yourself accountable. If that is done and you put one foot in front of the other, one would be surprised how successful you can be.

These programs do a lot for people. Those who are successful are very focused. Nothing is more important than the maintenance of their sobriety and the pursuit of happiness. Nothing. Personality conflicts with counselors do not take place when a person is ready to change their life. Nothing must interfere with that. Find what you need. It may be a person within a program that can give you the answer. The answers are there for you to find. Ultimatley the answers must be understood within one's heart and soul. Ultimately the answers are found within oneself. No program can do that for you. They can help you do that for yourself.

Recovery Celebration at Central Division

2008-10-01T23:51:00.000-07:00

On Thurs September 25, there was a celebration of sobriety at the Central Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. Andrew Conner organized the event. Andrew works for People Assisting The Homeless(Path)however, he was operating as a private citizen. Hot Dogs and hamburgers were
werved to the couple hundred people that attended the event. City Council woman Jan Perry spoke as well as many who are on the recovery path.
Maple Street was blocked off and chairs were set up. I was pretty surprised to see that so many people showed up. I arrived late but in time to see several people that I met when I first arrived on Skid Row and was quite pleased to see that they were maintaining their sobriety.

My View of Skid Row(Part One)-OneYear Anniversary of Scribeskidrow.

2008-09-23T12:33:00.002-07:00

Today marks the first year anniversary of my blog. It is hard to believe that it is actually been one year since I started writing it. I started writing the blog the same day that I moved out of the Transition House into the Marshall House. I shall never forget that day. I was quite fearful of my future, though, when I went to sleep, and woke up in the morning it was the beginning of a new life. You see, It was the first time I slept soundly for twelve months. Four months in jail followed by eight months in The
Transition House were not places were privacy was something that was remotely possible. In addition to that I was told when to wake up and when to sleep. I slept way into the morning that first morning. It was what I needed to start me on the next phase of my journey on Skid Row. So, I left people behind. They stayed with me in my heart. It was a good thing because most of the people that I met fell prey to circumstances, one way or the other. That candle that you see is not only for the one year anniversary but it is in memory for all who touch me and there were so many. I have been thinking of all of them. The ones that made it, I am more in awe of them than I was previously. The ones that did not, I am in awe of them as well for they gave me their wisdom and they fought a courageous battle with their demons. It was just not meant for them this time around. I miss them. I miss them deeply.
I recall when I first wrote about Skid Row I said that I knew nothing about it. Yes, I had been on Skid Row for eight months but I was in a compound and I rarely ventured out. However, when I moved to San Julian St., to the heart of and soul of the neighborhood, I knew I was going to learn a great deal about it. But as I said in the profile introduction, I began to learn a great deal about myself. My strengths and weaknesses were magnified. I was not able to enjoy my strengths as I had to battle and endure the weaknesses. The strengths meant nothing if I would succumb to the weaknesses. No, I am not talking about using drugs. I am talking about losing faith. And let it be known that I am not talking about losing faith in making through the Skid Row tunnel. I could not think that far ahead. That would be a weakness that would bring about inner chaos and emotional turmoil. The risk was to worry about the future and that would paralyze you from progressing through the day.
"Don't trip." That is where that phrase comes from. Many learned not to trip in jail or prison. They tried to teach me in jail. I understood it in jail. I did not have to deal with it as I had to focus like a robot to survive mentally and emotionally. I tried to deal with the concept when I first arrived on Skid Row because I had more time to let my mind wonder. I could speculate more about the future. In jail, there was no future--just the moment.
Some moments were extremely profound-in ways that are hard to describe. After all that I had experienced, the smallest act of kindness to me would evoke a body shiver and a waterfall of tears. Each act of kindness allowed me to regain faith that softness existed in the world. I would thank the person who extended that human kindness over and over again. Within the first couple of days of moving into the Marshall House and starting my blog, I went to the store to purchase something. A man was sitting on the ground in front of the store. He sat on the ground and asked me for some change. I ignored him. Each time I saw him, he asked me. Each time he asked me, I ignored him. I had my own anger at the time.
. I was not looking down on the man as much as I was fearful that if things did not go as I wanted them to go, needed them to go, I would end up on the ground like him. But in the final analysis, I was rejecting him and his needs. I learned later that his needs were far beyond the money for which he asked. I was hurting at the time and probably angry that someone would ask me for anything. Of course, I forgot that I had asked people for answers to my questions and the time they spent giving me those answers provided comfort and reassurance in my moments of insecurity. And believe me, there were many of them.

Last week marked the end of my first six months of employment and thus was eligible to receive medical benefits. On that day a woman who lived in the building where I worked asked me if her television had arrived for her. She has to urinate in a bag and many times it leaks on the floors and in the elevator. People complain about her and she can be very insistent on what she wants and demands immediate service, service for which I do not have the authority to provide. She gives me hell sometimes. But the woman had to be in a hospital for sometime and was transferred out of here to another location. When she returned the television was delayed in coming with her. Upon hearing that the television was here, she gave me the biggest smile in the world. Behind those otherwise sad eyes, you could see that she felt that somebody cared. She even said that she could hug me.

I saw that man again last week, the one that I told you I ignored. I went to the very same store and he was there. He looked at me like he was familiar with a hostile vibration from me though he obviously did not remember who I was. I went into a conditioned response mode when I saw him. I went into the store, bought what I wanted to buy and walked out and passed him. I walked ten feet and froze, standing dead in my tracks for about 20 seconds. I turned around and approached the man. He looked at me with a wonder in his eyes. After all, so many men like him are attacked every day by those who have such anger they feel that the mentally ill are available punching bags for anyone that feels they need to get out frustration.

I handed him the few dollars that were in my hand. He looked at me as if he was wondering if there was a mean trick in store for me. He looked deep in my eyes and finally saw that I was willing him to take it. It was as much for him as it was for me. "God bless you," he said. And in his eyes I understood that look. I had wore that look myself not too long ago. I felt that look. I ached when I recognized it.
It was the look of hope, a look that let me know that I nourished that hope in him enough for him to fight long enough to have someone provide him with some more hope--The hope that human beings still care for one another in a cruel, mean and vicious world.

I turned away and tears ran down my face. I fed my own need for something inside me to stay alive and grow, something where I can be of service to my fellow man. I looked down and saw the logo of the company for which I work and I had to smile.
As the CEO said one day to me when I told her that her organization can lead the way, "Walter, we are trying." Trying in Skid Row is not an easy task. It takes allot. But all of the people that I have met, gave their all with me when I was in the Marshall House. And now a year later, I am able to do the same for others.
That is what will bring change in Skid Row.
---------

People have asked me what I think of the non profit organizations. That answer is not easy to come by. One must be objective and when in Skid Row it is difficult to be objective. It is easy to grab onto something at which arrows of your own anger and frustrations can be aimed. Any story can make you pull out an arrow from your quiver.

Let me tell you a story. My story. And I tell this story not in anger but as a matter of fact in hopes that the spirit in which it is intended is received in the right way.

I was released from jail on February 7, 2007. It was two weeks after the court released me when I was picked up by Volunteers of America. I did not know I was going to be released in their custody. I was told differently. The judge, himself, did not know where I was. Each time I went to a court hearing he thought I was in another program other than to where he sent me.

I did whatever they told me to do at the Transition House. 7 months later I walked into the court room and the court released me from their custody. However, he said to me that though he appreciated all of the cocaine anonymous and alcohol anonymous meetings that I attended, that was not what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to go to an anger management class for a year. I did not know that. Basically the whole 8 months I that I spent in the program was a waste of my time because I had to still find a program as the judge still wanted me to attend an anger management class.

If I was not angry before then, I was angry after court. Why because I was already frustrated etc etc. I still had to go to a class. Volunteers of America had failed to deliver what they were supposed to do. Somebody in a decision making capacity dropped the ball. It cost me 8 months and I had to find a program before the next court date in December. No program was available. The free ones had a waiting list of 6 months. Perhaps, with a note from several programs, the judge may have understood and not sent me back to jail. I could not count on that.
One of the counselors from the program told me of a program that started at the LA Mission in February but that was speculative in my point of view. Even so, I would have to postpone my life another 4 months. It was already costing me a couple of years.

One counselor came up to me and told me that I should sue Volunteers of America. because they failed to deliver services and I lived in that 100 bed dormitory for no reason. He was right and most likely I would have won. But at the same time I would have lost. And that is my point.

Yes, Volunteers of America failed to do what they told the court they would do on one level. But on another level, on an interpersonal level, each and every person in that organization was there for me. The judge did not know where I was and he ordered me there. How can I assume that Volunteers of America was told I was to be in a certain type of program. Everybody that goes there is there for a drug program.
Should they believe that I was any different? I would say NO.

Each employee gave me wisdom in how to deal with my emotions. Each employee taught me how to deal with the separation and isolation from my family which was court ordered. Each and every employee fought to make me believe in myself and that all would work out if I just was patient. They were patient with me as I would as the same questions repeatedly. They mended my heart as best they could.

What happened to me was not so much a Volunteers of America failure, it is a Skid Row SYSTEMATIC DISORDER. There are communication problems between courts and organizations. There is under staffing. The staff is overworked. Organizations do not hire enough. People cost money. Counselors tell me that they are frustrated because of the unprofessionalism of their peers. Their colleagues do the best they can. It is not their fault that they are not being provided the training.

In cases where training is available, then you have a high transition rate of employee. Some relapse. Others seek other employment after cutting their teeth in the trenches of Skid Row. Some are there just for a paycheck. Is it because they don't care or they can no longer afford to care emotionally as they have been disappointed by clients that let them down or bureaucratic handcuffs that prevent them from doing what they feel needs to be done.

Organizations have a fear for being sued, and lets face, many who are in Skid Row come from a background where scams are a traditional source of employment. Fraud does not only live in Health Care Hospitals. A large percentage of the people that "seek shelter" in the LA Mission, the Midnight Mission, and the Union Rescue Missions are merely taking advantage of the system. They are running some type of scam. Two people were evicted from where I work and they told me they did not care because they can go to one of the missions. Indeed, that is where they told us to forward their mail.

Lets face it. and many in Skid Row believe this. Many counselors believe this. Many of these non profit organizations serve as enablers for those who want to continue to scam the system or do drugs. "Walter, I will relapse when I damn well please." Is it bravado hiding their shame of relapsing? Is it mental illness bred from many things, the seeds of which were planted long before they were born. Let us be clear. There is a socialization process in certain mental illnesses particularly if the roots stem from the eggs of disenfranchisement and the growth comes from a need to survive, whether through ignorance or expedience.

If the missions were to throw out all of those that rotate to one mission and then the other when they have overstayed their welcome at one place,or if they would be tougher on relapsers, then I pretty much guess that their would be enough beds available for the mentally ill and emotionally crippled who are not slick enough or whose souls are not corrupt enough to "run game" to have shelter. They are the ones who are suffering. They are suffering deeply. The other sufferers are the people that relapse after fighting a hard battle and resources are being depleted by those who make a lifestyle of it. These missions are homes to them.

There is an argument by many that the missions do not want to turn anyone away or kick anyone out who is relapsing. To do so would discourage those from stepping forward to receive help. Some say that is nonsense. Some say that the people who are "full time residents" are playing a game and are playing the missions for fools.
Some say that the missions need the crack smokers more than the crack smokers need them. The missions need them to fill the place in order to receive funding. That view is echoed by counselors who believe that the goal of some of the missions or non profits is to obtain funding and that everything else is secondary.

Some also say that at the LA Mission and the Union Rescue Mission you must first commit to being a Christian before you can either gain employment or receive assistance for drugs. Therefore the perception on the street is that help is subject to being converted over to a religious group. I have not talked to the leaders of either place. I do not know. I have read the employment application of the Union Rescue Mission. It does ask you to state some commitment to Christianity. If one is excluded from employment because they are not Christians, I do not know.

I believe the missions have their purpose. I also believe that it would be politically a tough call to throw people out after they have relapsed repeatedly. Everyone is conditioned to certain policies. Business on Skid Row has been done a certain way for a long time. But lets be honest. Everyone knows that drugs are sold by those that live in the missions. Some believe that low level employees protect those that are buying the drugs and even supply them as well, taking a percentage of sells as a supplement to their incomes which are definitely low.
Temptation is there. I was walking with a woman a month ago and she told me to wait for her because she had to stop in the mission, where in front we were standing, in order to purchase her bag of heroin.

It is a difficult call. So no one can expect expect things to change from establishments that have been in Skid Row a long time. They have their axes to grind. It is harder to bring change in huge organizations--too bureaucratic.

It is just like trying to get the agencies or government to committees.
I can recall many times in the last year when government officials would call me to rant and rave about how frustrated they were. County and City agencies were in agreement for a couse of action for Skid Row but everthing was held up because one of the Agencies did not only want top billing. They wanted ONLY billing. Therefore the people who needed assistance did not receive it because of marqee issues.

That led some of the people participating on Skid Row issues to conclude, as do people on the street, that everyone wants Skid Row to stay the same. "Walter, nothing gets done. We have meeting after meeting. We have meetings to discuss the next meeting. Everybody gives lip service of agreement in public. As soon as the meeting adjourns, everyone is backing out of their commitments. it is as if they want to sabotage it. It makes you think that not only nothing is going to change but that everyone wants it to stay the same," spoke a several year front line veteran of Skid Row issues.

"Walter, this thing about containment. It is actually true. No one will state that it is the case but the decisions are, in effect, a defacto policy position. We have this discussion to spread out the services that are offered to the homeless. Every government organization says "yes", we should not put the pressure on the city of Los Angeles. But then they vote down money allocations for their own municipality or respective counties. So in effect nothing changes and LA maintains it position as the homeless capital with Skid Row being the center for it all. But,of of course, eveyone would deny indignantly, feigning trmendous umbrage, if you mentioned that they were in effect perpetuating the 'containment" policy.

So with that, I believe that innovation will come from new sources-sources that are not set in their ways and are open to ideas. There are organizations in Skid row that are open to change. They are more able to adjust to the needs of the community if management feels the situation warrants it. More on that in Part 2 of my first year in review.

Tribute to 911

2008-09-18T10:11:00.008-07:00

When I was in the Transition House last year, I opened up YouTube account in an attempt to begin to acquaint myself with the evolving multimedia phenonmenon.

The very first video I saw was this one, After 911 The Intimate Story. It was taken by some people who lost someone in their family in the 911 disaster. They, 912crew. have since created a website where they tell how a catastrophe created a community within a community and brought people together who most likely never would have met, let alone create and develop life long relationships.

I am aware that the 911 tribute was last week. However, I feel that each day, in one way or another, we should remember the people who lost their lives in 911. We should also live by the example that the people of "ground zero" have set, transcending cultural differences and nurturing an environment that facilitates the communication and understanding among varieties of people.

Please watch this video, and then after viewing it, please go to 912film.com.

Protest on Spring Street

2008-09-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

This morning I went to Wells Fargo Bank on Spring Street between 3rd and 4th. Usually it would be a very quiet routine but that was not the case this morning. There was a huge protest taking place in front of the State Building which is on Spring St.
I did not get the exact name of the union but it was a health care workers union that represents social service providers. Apparently they were vocalizing their position that the budget should be signed. The fear was that the social service workers would not be paid and then services would eventually be cut to their clients who are the developmentally disabled.
At one point the workers marched in a circle in the middle of the street blocking Spring ST. Eventually they settled on one side of the street. The clients, most of whom were in wheelchairs, joined the workers in the protest.

The LA times,reported in this morning's paper
that an agreement had been reached and the state legislature would vote on it today. No new taxes are to be levied but cutbacks in services are at risk.

That is how Monday started. Let us see how the week progresses.

Miguel Contreras Learning Complex Swimming Pool.--More than just a pool

2008-09-10T11:33:00.000-07:00

When I was 9 years old two things happened: I became a competitive swimmer in the AAU and I joined the Crenshaw YMCA. At that time the Crenshaw YMCA was expanding its programs and it formed what was the GRA-Y. The GRA-Y was a group of clubs. Club membership was determined by where a child lived in the various neighborhoods that surrounded the YMCA, or by where a child attended school. It was a sports league, human relations laboratory among other things. It was a place where minority kids could spend quality times with their fathers who were all role models for us. It was a place where we could begin the socialization process so we could blend or assimilate into society at large. We were able to travel to places and experience environments that were outside of the immediate area like the Los Angeles National Forest.
It was also a time when fathers could spend quality time with their young sons and provide examples on how to conduct yourselves as adults and as community citizens. Those that did not have fathers were able to benefit from the fathers that were at the meetings, club gatherings and outings or field trips.
My father, a career Los Angeles Unified School District(LAUSD)educator suggested that the members of my club name ourselves the COBRAS. We loved it and that was the name that was on our team tee-shirt and we wore it with pride.

I was swimming every day in my club swim workouts but, in addition to that, I swam daily at the Rancho Cienega Park swim pool adjacent to Dorsey High School. I was a constant figure inside of the pool and my father was a constant observer in the stands. The pool allowed for me to develop my swim skills, stay off of the streets and strive to become a Junior Olympic Champion. I remember when the Tokyo Olympics came on and I watched Don Schollander win 4 gold medals. He was from Yale College and it was the first time I had heard of a college other than USC or UCLA. So that swim pool at Rancho indirectly exposed me to even more environments and opportunities.

As you know my return to swimming, training at USC for the Los Angele Triathlon, was the main ingredient in the successful ending of my substance abuse. Everyday, I went to USC and swam. Interesting enough, I met a man there who was a very good swimmer. He was older than I and he introduced himself to me as Dr. Hart. I remember reading, in the swimming meet results, in Swimming World Magazine, of a man named Hart in 1964. He won many meets and he was on the swim team with Don Schollander at Yale. I asked him where he went to college and he said Yale. Yes, it was the same man about him I read in the magazine. Thirty eight years later, at another people three thousand miles away from where he was living where I first read about him, I met him.
In the spring of 2007, while residing at the shelter in Skid Row, to which I was ordered by the court, I went home to retrieve a couple of things. I could not stay long because I would get into trouble but I managed to grab my swim goggles. I stuffed them in my bag and grabbed my bicycle and rode back to Skid Row, one of the loneliest moments in my entire life that I experienced.

I hung those goggles where I could see them every day. I thought of swimming every day while in jail and what it did for me and I needed to experience it again. I never gave up the idea that I would have that chance, though, in Skid row it was hard to believe that nothing of enjoyment would ever enter my world again. It hurt remembering those days swimming at USC, talking to all of the swimmers and the coaches. They inspired me and had so much to do with my ending a lifestyle of substance abuse. That pool trained so many Olympic swimmers and it felt good to embrace the lifestyle of dedication, devotion, discipline and determination.

I was determined to keep the dream alive, sitting in that shelter, day in and day out. One day, in the summer of 2007, I read, in the Downtown News, where the Contreras Learning Complex had opened up, and there was discussion about opening up the pool for community use. I did not pay too much attention to the article--the important thing was that I became aware of the fact that a new pool was in the area and if they ever opened it, I could afford the cost of it as USC was too far as well as expensive and the Ketchum YMCA membership was beyond my budget as well.

Finally I obtained a job and the chance to begin my fitness program was again in my thoughts but I had a way to go before I could make it happen. And once again, and article about the Miguel Contreras pool was in the Downtown News. Mayor Villaraigosa dedicated the opening of the pool for the summer to the community.

I moved off of San Julian St. and the Olympics were approaching. Months before the 2004 Olympics began was the time when I was when I was on the path of fitness again at the USC pool. The Olympics were here again and I wanted to feel the water and begin once again my fitness program, that same program that helped me end a career of substance abuse.

It all seemed perfect. The was no better time to start my training. The Olympics were only a week away. I had moved into a new unit and left most of the past behind me. The former USC swim Coach had left and become the director of USA swimming and was in charge of the Olympic swim team. I definitely felt a connection there as He and I had become friends.

So I found my goggles and rode my bike up to the Miguel Contreras Learning Complex. It was a beautiful new facility, situated on a hill, above a valley, where you could see for miles. It was in contrast to the limited view that I had for so long on Skid Row. But that had changed because my new unit had a expansive view. I guess all of that was in line with the new attitude on life.

The first thing I saw was the School name, the COBRAS. It reminded me immediately of my father, the YMCA clubs and their purpose of developing young men. I could not help but think about how families were able to spend quality time together and boys were off the streets. Instead of getting into trouble, they were having good, healthy fun.

Needless to say, I had a great swim and went there for three weeks. The strength came back and the feeling of building a new life and looking forward was ingrained in me more and more each time I left.

But that was not the important thing. The most important thing was watching the kids having fun, jumping off the diving boards while older brothers and sisters held the hands of their younger sisters with their first attempts of being inside big pool. Mothers played with the kids and enjoyed the company of their husbands.

One Latina girl really caught my attention. She was not frolicking in the pool. She was hard at work swimming laps. She was nine years old, and was doing the butterfly stroke, which is the hardest of the competitive strokes to do at any age--but at nine years old, damn near impossible. It takes hard work and dedication to master the rhythm, acquire the strength and understand the synchronization involved. Clearly she had been doing this for some time. Her parents sat proudly watching her and her father would encourage her. She was a little tiger in that water.

And now the pool is closed until next summer. It is a shame. Again, it is not important that I train. It is important for those families to spend time together. It is important for those children to have the chance to spend time with their mothers and fathers while being taught by their older siblings. It is important that that little latina girl have the opportunity to continue developing her swimming, something that will give her confidence far beyond the swim pool. It is important that they learn and experience something new and realize that there is a big world out here and it is theirs for the taking.

The pool did so much for me in my life. It exposed me to worlds and developed my mind and body. When I was lost, it was there and I found it. And by finding it, I found myself again. And just those few days I swam this summer, this Olympic year put me back in touch with my dreams.

I love that name the Cobras. It was the name my father gave us and I saw the spirit of the YMCA purpose in the Cobras swimming pool where families could be together and where children could develop. That pool did a lot for me. It gave me a chance to feel what it was like to have recreation in my life again and to relax. It gave me a chance to see a young latina girl pursue her dreams.

My father, a career LAUSD teacher, would have loved seeing that activity at the pool. I hope it reopens and the families can continue to enjoy it during the weekends. Those parents could watch their daughter swim and that little latina girl could pursue her dreams of competitive swimming. Years from now, I may have a chance to watch her in the Olympic games.

The Criminal Courts Building(CCB)--A Short Story

2008-09-07T17:39:00.000-07:00

This is the Criminal Courts Building, aka CCB. It has been the venue for famous trials, the most celebrated one being the OJ Simpson Trial. That trial was a big production. Though there has not been a trial as famous as the OJ Simpson trial at CCB recently, the edifice still serves as a venue for daily productions. I find it interesting that several trial attorneys, one of whom is a prosecutor, have said to me that the Law or the courtroom is not about truth.
I neglected to ask them what then are they about. For sure, the CCB building produces shows every day and I was privy to quite a show on Wednesday when I arrived for my progress report and hearing.

Yes, I wrote that garbage about inner growth and development in the previous post. Sure did and with all of the self satisfaction I could convey about my state of mind. Of course I never thought I would have to exercise that higher road of attitude and growth after the hearing. For sure the motion would be granted--after all it had been agreed to by all parties. Or had it? And when? After all, my attorney informed me that he only call the DA on the day before the hearing. Of course, they had over six weeks to get together to discuss this and and reach agreement in areas where there was none. If there was an objection surely a give and take compromise by both could be reached. But a 24 hour before court hearing phone call, there was not too much margin to handle any unforseen contengencies. Suddenly things did not feel so certain that Wednesday morning as I prepared to go to court and meet my fate. Suddenly an uneasiness lingered in the back of my mind, an unsettling feeling that things were not resolved as they should be.

Perhaps I was in denial. I wanted the end to be now. I had the nagging feeling that something was amiss but I prepared early and in detail. Nails were clipped and filed and shoes polished. I had no conflict preparing so meticulously for court. After all I was exercising a bit of discipline and was producing my own presentation--ME.

The Criminal Courts building is one of the constants in Skid Row life. Everybody on Skid Row knows where two buildings are if no other ones--CCB and the nearest County building--which in this case is on Fourth St. The CCB building is visited so much that if there were jungle foliage between Skid Row and The County building, it would all be dense, with the exception of a trail carved out by so many people going to court. Sometimes people go to court and do not return. That is seldom as most people decide the will not risk that and do not go to court at all. Eventually a bench warrant is issued for them and they are arrested and returned to jail or prison.

So On Wednesday, I walked that trail to CCB, no longer as certain of the outcome. Each step I took, the building seemed so increasingly ominious. But onward I went and
to my fate and to observe the Wednesday morning show. I had a feeling the production for the day would be exceptionally interesting.
I was not disappointed.

After making sure my appearance was up to standard--clean shaven, white shirt, blue club tie, gray suit and brown loafers--I made my way to CCB. In my early court appearances, I would get there at 8:30AM but the lines were always crowded. My attorney is always late so I decided to arrive there around 8:45 when the crowds die down. Sure, I may miss the first call of cases but they know I will be there.
I have been in that court room so many times it is like I am part of the family or production depending on the day.

This time things were a bit different when I walked in. There seemed to be a tension in the court room. It was crowded and usually that is not the case. However it was the second day after a Holiday--court backlog. The seeds of anxiety were were planted.

The judge came in and started calling cases and mine was called. Suddenly I saw the DA, who escaped my notice when I arrived by sitting in the corner, raising her hand to speak to the judge. She basically said that my attorney was there earlier but I wasn/t. Now I was there and he wasn't. I detected a bit of irritation in her voice. She obviously did not want to be there. The anxiety seeds were germinating rapidly as her attitude was not a good sign of things to come.

Then the courtroom show started. Having been in that court room many times over the last 2 years, I have come to know the judge's courtroom habits pretty well. I sat there and watched him and it appeared that he was irritated;the subtle rolling of his eyes towards a new clerk gave him away. Most did not see this but I was watching him very closely as this day was very important to me. He kept asking the clerk why certain files were on his desk. Then a couple of attornies walked in and said they were ready for court but they could not get a response from the judge. The the judge did something I have never seen him do before, or any other judge. He stood up walked over to his clerk and asked him for a date stamp. He grabbed one and started stamping his files. After doing that he turned to his new clerk and instructed him on how to stamp his files, where to stamp them and so on.
Oh my god, Walter. This is not looking good here. The judge is not pleased because his court is not running smoothly this morning and the new clerk is aggravating the situation by mismanaging the files. Do something to make sure all of this has as little impact as possible on you.

I got up and walked out of the courtroom determined to find my attorney who was somewhere in the building dealing with some other cases. I called his office and his secretary told me which court rooms to search as my attorney had to make court appearances other than mine that were in CCB. I searched around and in the third court room I found him.

"You were late he said. You have to get there early. The District Attorney was bitching and moaning about why we had to wait for you. And she is not going for any part of the motion. She said 'make him finish the classes'. Go back down and wait for me. I will be back down there in a minute."

Dam, I was afraid of that. Dam Walter, it looks like it is going to be one of those days. Just go back down there and wait for him. Shit.

So I went back downstairs and stood in the hallway for a minute. And the show got better. A black man was standing in the lobby about five feet away from me. Suddenly five police officers walked up to him, surrounded and handcuffed him. "What did I do?" was his question that went on deaf ears. They escorted him to the stairway where they were taking him to holding cell. His female companion kept yelling for him to call her collect so he could get out of jail later that day.

I went in the court room waiting for my attorney. When he got there, the DA was fuming she wanted to leave. Hearing some commotion, I turned and saw my attorney and the District Attorney arguing.
Oh my god, please no. not this. Dam, Walter you might as well forget it. The judge is pissed. The DA is pissed. Now she is arguing with my attorney and nowt about the case. They are fighting about not returning phone calls and waiting to be heard in front of the judge. This is Murphy's law unfolding right in front of my eyes.

They called my case and I rushed to the table to get the whole thing over with. In addition to the show my attorney and the DA were providing, I had alread seen a man arrested. That had never happened in my experience in that building. furthermore I had to watch a preliminary hearing in which it was clear the defendant was guilty. He was wearing jail house blues and that brought back flashbacks of the time I was in their custody. I saw the public defender that was able to get me released from jail. She had been on maternity leave since August. It was good to see her but seeing her added on to memories of the past and I wanted to move forward. Naturally feelings of the past and all of that pain fell on me like a never ending waterfall.

Oh God, just get me out of herein one piece.

We were ready to start my case. Or so I thought. The show had not finished. In fact it just got better. My attorney and the District Attorney were still arguing.

God, I don't need this. Michael, stop fighting with her. Please

Suddenly the judge's voice boomed over the loudspeaker "STOP BIKERING. IF YOU ARE GOING TO BICKER, DO IT ON YOUR TIME." I saw this coming all morning. The judge was already frustrated with delayed cases and poor file management with his new clerk. All of the attornies had excuses. The DA was pissed and my attorney was waging a never ending battle with her as if she had no bearing on my case. This was not a good way to begin the court proceeding. Well guess what, it got worse.

The judge began " Mr. Melton has attended 33 classes".
"36 classes, your honor," burst my attorney.
"DON'T INTERRUPT ME", shot back the judge, staring at him with unflinching eyes. The court room was shocked. Usually this type of admonishment was for the defendants, not the officers of the court.

OH no Michael. The judge is already pissed off. Jesus. Dont say anything else . Please

And of course, my attorney did not stop. He went on about something or another and then the judge told him "That is neither here nor there.:
"It IS what it is!!!" shot back my attorney.

Oh God, Michael. If you keep talking I might end up end jail. Why don't you and the District Attorney go outside and continue your feud and let the judge and I handle this.

The judge heard my attorney's arguments for granting the motion of reducing my felony to a misdemeanor. The District Attorney opposed the granting of the motion just like my attorney said. But she played dirty. She lied.

The show was about to get better. "After all your honor, he has a criminal history". That was a flat out lie. I had no criminal history whatsoever and she knew it. It was a bold face lie, an assumptive fact, that she threw into the game as a dirty tactic, to implant something on the judge's mind to influence his decision--just to get her way. Then she said it again. I reacted after all of this circus and told my attorney that she was lying. He said it didn't matter because the judge had already denied the motion. That part was true. But I was fed up with people saying lies about me during this two plus year time span. And the lies and the prisoner in the jump suit and seeing the public defender again reminded me of all of that.

Eventually the subject of the end of my probation came up. I was surprised that the probation period was over next July, in 2009. I thought it would be over in
2010. And the judge has scheduled for me to be in court on February 27,2009.
He turned to me after the attorney circus was over and he said, "Mr. Melton, please make sure that you pick up that completion later before the court date." The judge had said he was sympathetic to my situation. However his hands were tied. He was in effect saying, "Mr. Melton, I can not do this for you right now. If you were to mess up and do something wrong then I would have my ass in a sling."

Well, I walked out of the court room and, of course, was glad to get the hell out of there. I was glad the show was over. Of course, I walked out of there thinking the worse. That was not the worse of it. I had to live by the words I wrote regarding this inner growth. Of course, none of that made a damn bit of difference to me when I walked out of the court room. I had to find some one with whom I could vent. I vented for a while, ranting and raving about this and that. I got it out of my system and then realized that I had lost nothing. I did not get what I wanted but I got what I needed.

I do not have to worry about waiting. The end is end sight. It is one thing for me to talk about it but is quite another for the judge to talk about it. Then it hit me, it really is almost over, in more ways than one. So instead of worry about each class as I am now near the end, I can concentrate on learning how to improve my sharing with you. I did not waste time being down, I started experimenting with my writing. I used the italics as a way to share what was going on in my mind as the show unfolded in front of me. It was something new. Now I have experience at it. I must improve on it.

This will be the first time that I will not have to be in court in a couple of months since this time last year. So much has changed, and indeed, in the end, I have grown. Dont sweat the small stuff. Things may seem so life and death, and some do not see that that is not the case. They can be so close, so very close, and
and yet, fail to see it and then do something that ruins everything that they haver worked toward. Perhaps the use drugs. Perhaps they do not go to court on the next date. They give up. So what do I do? I shall do what I have been told to do since I arrived here. "Keep doing what you are doing, Walter. It will work out for you."
"Keep focused." It has and it will continue to yield results.

The Growth Within is more important than Court Decision

2008-09-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

These two photos are symbolize many things-The past and the future. The sunset reflects my past fading more into the past and it has a beauty within its own right. This city hall is a little bit different from all of the other City Hall photos that I have posted on my blogs. In the other photos, City Hall is all you see. There is nothing beyond it which is how I felt about my future--there was nothing beyond Skid Row. However in this photo, you can see the mountain peaking through the northern downtown Skyline. I can see beyond City Hall in this picture. I can see a life beyond Skid Row. It is starting to reveal its potential and eventual reality. Let me explain.

Last week was a big week for me. I finished my second column. Yes, perhaps I have not shared with you this new part of my life. I have been asked to write a column for a start up website. I can not reveal the name as it still has not been decided what it will be. A publisher of a downtown newspaper asked me to be a part of the project. It is a great opportunity to grow and develop writing and reporting skills.
At this time I have completed two columns. It was a different feeling writing those columns and it was interesting to be edited and to begin the process of learning about that relationship between writer and editor. That was the one thing that
Dana Goodyear, of the New Yorker, told me was essential in the writer's development path, understanding that relationship between writer and editor.

Friday, there was meeting with the publishers, editor and the other columnists. It was very interesting to feel myself be a part of a new Internet project and to experience and learn both the publishing and start-up website process.

This week I have a court hearing to potentially reduce my felony status a misdemeanor which changes many things, self-esteem not being the least of them. That court action will also lead the way for future expungement of this criminal thereby removing the case from my record. And, of course, I will attend my weekly, court required class on Friday. As of now I have completed 36 and have 16 remaining. I have paid, in advance,for 43 of the 52 classes. It is a long way from the time when I was desperate to find a place that provided these classes. There were places that offered them for free but they had a six month waiting list and they were many miles away. The court would have been satisfied with that signing up for them but it would have postponed further my freedom from completing these court obligations and thus restrict my life further. I chose to find one that was available and, luckily, I did. So each week, if nothing else, I know that after attending the class and paying for one more class, I am moving further away from the past and moving closer toward my future, while enjoying more the 'work in progress'.

However, this is what is so amazing. Although my life is changing rapidly with respect to opportunities and legal situations, which of course clears the way to pursue various different things and provides me with the chance to experience freedom again, THOSE ARE NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT CHANGES IN MY LIFE. They are a distant second to what I am experiencing inside of myself. That is what is so amazing. I am not concerned as much with the court proceedings. I have endured the test of time and requirements that were a component of the various challenges that this time presented. I am nearing the end of that tunnel and the light is getting bigger and brighter as each day goes on. Indeed I also feel various burdens lifting as the light becomes brighter.

However I am enjoying more what is taking inside of me. Perhaps it is from the passage of time, little by little I have seen my circumstances improve. But I have been working on my faith and belief that things will improve for a long time. But I also wanted answers, answers that did not come easy and the answers, many times, were ways to achieve a certain peace, acceptance, confidence and discover truth. I was willing to find and accept truth in whatever way it comes. However, at times I could not see things. Perhaps the psyche had to protect it self. Perhaps I was unable to see the connections of my behavior in producing feelings of resentment and hurt.

Fortunate enough, I felt deep inside there were things I would have to ask myself. There was something holding me back from condemning my sisters attitude toward me. Maybe some of it was unreasonable but hurt brings about attitudes that are self protective. It happened to me and no doubt over a two decade period the hurt I brought to her built layer by layer over time. Over course, I honestly did not know this. I did not see it. I did not see the brainwashing that consumption of drugs did to me. Brainwashing is a form of torture. It robs you of your values and implants others that go along with the morays and folkways self destruction and relationships.

My old friend, Kenny, who does not want to speak to me anymore is another example. I had known him for over 40 years and if there is anything in life I knew to be true, it was that I would never live life without him. I was hurt and angry when I heard that he did not want to speak to me. However, something inside, I guess it was from my father's training, told me to wait and consider. you do not have all of the information Walter. In this case, information could not be told to me, it had to be accepted or recognized because it was always there.

I did not abuse my mother, per say. No way did I do what the courts say. But I that is not important. What is important is that I robbed her of her feelings, hopes and dreams. Sure I restored what I could. sure she said to me " Walter, you matured right in front of my eyes." But how much pain and suffering did I put her through.

My father told me the night before I entered prep school this statement ," Walter, no matter what someone says to you or asks you, do not ever jump to the conclusion that he is a bigot. It may seem on the surface as such. However you do not have perfect information. That takes time. Many things go into a persons point of view and most of them happen before they are born. So if they say something and ask something it is because the are seeking your opinion because you are open and receptive enough to give them the strength to be vulnerable in revealing their doubts, questions and fears"." If you have 10 reasons to conclude something. Wait for another 5. Once you reach 15, wait for fifteen more. and even after that, endure the challenge of the quest of learning rather than the convenience of being right and thus prematurely wrong."

I used those that wisdom all of my life and I did not stop just because it would have been self fulfilling to swim in a lake of denial. To deny truth would hinder growth. With the roots of understanding digging deeper into my soul, after clearing away the weeds of retardation and stagnation disappear. The deeper roots give way to the blossoms of discovery and the lightness in spirit enables me to climb and see what I was not able to see previously.

That is what this move to this unit has been. I am able to understand the connections of my actions. From this phenomenon I have searched to find creative ways of understanding. Combined, the energies and efforts have paved the way for peaceful existence and confidence that I can learn, heal and live in sync with youthful goals in life. There is no conflict between desire and behavior, between perception and reality. I understand how my actions hurt myself and others.
I understand how being self abusive, by extension, leads to indirect and unintended disregard for relationships in ways that I did not know could have happened.

So perhaps now it is clear why this independent study, at this stage is so vital and fulfilling. The peace and confidence I gain from recognizing through self examination have a plethora of effect on me. This phase is paramount in the advancement of a process of self discovery. It also furthers the creative process in the production of life and the production of my presentation of this phenomenon.

Yes, the opportunities and the potential legal changes are important. But they would be shallow events if my advancement toward freedom would be not in total balance.,

See you after court tomorrow.

Biddie Mason--A Los Angeles Pioneer and Civic Leader

2008-08-27T19:42:00.000-07:00

Biddie Mason

As a Los Angeles native, I prided myself on my knowledge of the history of this city. However, it amazes me how much I have been able to learn about Los Angeles since living on Skid Row. Having developed this loved for history during the last few years, my pursuit of more historical knowledge never ended because I landed on Skid Row. In fact I pursued it even more vigorously as it kept my mind off of my worries and pain.

I started learning about downtown Los Angeles when my father took me to Central Ave. Having developed his passion for photography, he wanted to photos of the Coca Cola battleship with his wide angle camera which he built. It was the last place that he and I went together before he died.

I always felt that the more I learned about Los Angeles, the more I learned about my parents and myself. My father was born here and my mother was raised here having moved to Los Angeles from Northern California.

Of course when I started my triathlon training I read all of the plaques at USC and those plaques provided much in history about Los Angeles, starting with learning the full name of the City of Los Angeles,El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles.

When I arrived in Skid Row I was able to feel the history of Los Angeles like never before. I have always been fascinated by old buildings so I was able to appreciate the architecture of yesteryears and learn more about the development of this city and the people that helped build it. It is funny how good things can come from excruciating experiences. It guess it is a matter of getting through them to a certain point so we can experience them.

One day I was trying to find a short cut to Broadway from Spring street and found a walkway that extended from street to street just north of the Wells Fargo branch between 3rd and 4th on Spring Street. In the middle of the walkway I ran into this Historical monument.

It was about Biddie Mason who was a slave from Georgia. She came to California and won her freedom. She become a very successful real estate entrpreneur and philanthropist and could be arguably one of the first advocates of the homeless here in Los Angeles. She also was one of the founders of the First African Methodist Episcopal Church, one of the oldest predominantly black attended churches in the city of Los Angeles. I never heard of her before living on Skid Row. I found that amazing.

I can not do Biddie Mason justice but I encourage you to see the write up about her that Wikipedia did. Please click on her name,Biddie Mason, here and read the Wikipedia write up about her.

Starting to Exhale, Welcome to My Home. Hearing myself think

2008-08-20T14:08:00.000-07:00

The view from my window looking to the South/Southwest
The view from my window looking North/Northwest
This is most of my room and you see the assembled workstation. I write to you from that location. There are newer buildings and units with more amenities but for me, I think I could not ask for a better situation to study and work as well as have access to other areas of downtown. This phase will be interesting.
These are individual pieces of the workstation. I purhased it the day after I moved in and wasted no time in putting it together so I be productive. I work and study right there. I do pushups, situps, and yoga on the carpet.
My first purchase on Skid Row. I said goodbye to them. They protected me and proved to me that I can build again from nothing.
---------------------------------------------------------
Ah yes. I can sit down for a few minutes and talked to you before I go to work today.

First I had some grocery shopping to do. A visit to the post office was after that. Finally I took a photo of those shower/pool shoes. It was a long time coming. Perhaps it should have been done a long time ago. However, things happen when they happen.

I am ready to let go I suppose. After a couple of clicks, I tossed the sandles in the trash, threw the trash out and finally settled in on the bed. More of the past was gone. I am welcoming the new and a bright future.
----------
I purchased those sandles after a month of living on Skid Row, in the shelter to which I was ordered by the court. I had no extra clothing and whenever I needed to wash what I had, I did it by hand in the sink. I had no money and asked no one for anything. Every time I wrung out a pair of socks by hand I told myself that I was going to survive this. I thought of the camping trips that I took with my father as a kid where we hiked in the Sierra Nevada and survived off of nature. No tents for us. We slept on the ground and what we ate depended on how much fish was caught in the day. Yes, those trips taught me how to survive.

My first concern was my feet. In jail, everyone had to be careful to avoid acquiriing a staph bacteria infection. It is easy to get in places where people bathe and step in water or in places where moisture is present. Shower rooms, bath houses, swim pools are environments where staph infections are common and thrive.

After collecting cans for a month, I was able to purchased a pair of sandles, and in the process, proved to myself that I could make it happen and build from nothing. It was at about that time that I started washing my clothes in the washer and drying them outside. More progress, That is how it all began for me on Skid Row. Little by little. And now I am throwing those sandles away. The strength gained from the process of struggling and utilizing my resources and exercising patience hA helped me build character in ways that I never knew existed. Actually the character was there. The foundation was set by my parents but aspects of it had been dormant too long and needed to be tested.

I have been wanting to sit and talk with you guys but I could not find it in myself to write. It is the first time I have been able to just sit still, feel and absorb as my system has been bombarted by noise every since I entered the mail dormitory at Los Angeles County Jail and there has been on going change and evolvement. On my first night in jail there was a riot and it was loud in that room of 100 beds from that day on. Fighting and yelling were normal events during the course of every day. At times the noise was a respite from the tamborines banging inside of my head and heart, during those quiet moments, when I did not have a book to read, or paper on which to write, when my thoughts would go to areas where deep emotional pain and confusion danced around like happy rats and roaches in a pile of garbage.

The noise was just as loud in the shelter because people had music devices from which loud rap music would bounce off the walls twenty four hours a day. I found a hiding place, sitting in the guard shack during the day, every day, baking in the sun, writing non-stop, researching my emotions and thoughts as best I could. But I was in nomad's land, in ways I never knew existed. The brief moments of peace would would be interrupted by the inevitable drug deal in front of my eyes, or a drug user ducking behind a car to hit a pipe or stick a needle in his veins to ease that jones that for heroin that had been a monkey on his back. Never a dull moment.

Next stop was San Julian street, the heart and soul of Skid Row where a raging battle for its soul wages on as I speak to you. There, I advanced from Skid Row Kindergarten and started learning what the place really was about. I had been on Skid Row for 8 months and knew I knew was ignorant of its ways. Now, on San Julian
I could hear the confusion inside of my head and feel the pain deep in my heart. There was no way way to mask it or hide from it. The roach infested room was small and depressing but it had one thing going for it. It was my OWN room.

I was scared to move into it. It was horrible. I remember one of the counselors at the shelter asking me what was wrong. Why was I stalling to make the move? I looked at him and with tears flowing I said I was scared. Then I yelled it as loud as I could as if finally coming to grips with the fact that my future was uncertain and terrifying. Most people are worried about going back to drugs when they leave those shelters. That is the common thread of conversation when people move out of places like that. That was the least of my concerns. I was not ever going to do that. I was concerned that my status as a felon would prevent me from securing employment or I would not be allowed to renew my real estate license. Perhaps my general relief benefits would run out and I would become homeless. Absolutely terrified of it. The administrators at the shelter told me later, that if anything went wrong, I could return to the shelter. I was thankful, but I was just as terrified of returning to the shelter as I was at being homeless. Many people recycle themselves to those shelters after they relapse. It is their safety valve. They know they can do drugs and the light will be on for them when they need it. I wanted no part of participating in that cycle. I was moving to a street where drugs where openly sold and used. Many people crumbled with that temptation in their face every day. However I was taking a step to move out of Skid Row and I had no intention of going backwards. It just drove me crazy that I had stopped doing drugs at least 18 months before moving to San Julian St. Yet, I was surrounded by more drugs and people that actively did drugs than ever before. It just did not make sense to me.

When I first landed on Skid Row, I I would view the downtown Skyline at night and it appeared to me to be a massive prison wall fencing me in and separating me from a life of normality. Every thing on the other side of it was normal and I was horrified that my standards of a normal existence was going to take a permanent structural shift.

Then something magical happened. I closed the door to my room on San Julian St and was alone. It was the first time I was alone in over 18 months. I could take off my clothes and lay nude on my bed. I did not have to hear a person snoring or farting next to me while they were sleeping. Most of all, I did not have to wonder who would be in the bed next to me when I awoke. Would it be the same person? Would he be crazy and prone to sudden violence? Would he even wake up in the morning? Deaths are very normal in those shelters and one man said good night to me one night, walked to his bed, sat down, and laid back. He eventually closed his eyes and never woke up. When I awoke at five in the morning, the counselors were evacuating the dormitory in preparation for the coroner to arrive.

So I went to sleep. It was the best sleep I had in almost two years. It was a deep sleep. Furthermore I could sleep as long as I wanted to sleep. For 18 months I was awakened by county sheriffs in jail or the counselors at the shelter when they suddenly turned on the lights and jolted you awake at 5:30 AM. That morning, I slept and slept. I woke up and realized that I had a little bit of freedom. I de-instutionalized myself just a little bit. But I got up put on my clothes, went to Chrysalis and opened a blog account at blogomonster. Two weeks later I opened one up at Blogger.

I did not have the luxury of too much freedom. I was still in serious institutional jurisdiction; three weeks of County classes--what they call employee training. I had just finished two weeks of classes at the shelter. I had to attend a week of classes at Chrysalis before I moved to San Julian Street in order to use their computers. Let us not forget the court appearances and the residential compliance requirements of my new residence. They took up time on my calendar. If you miss court that was problem. If you missed a Chrysalis class, there would be no computer privileges. And if you did not comply with the residential rules you could be evicted for lack of compliance. Some of those rules you learned about as you went along.If I missed a County class, they would cut off my benefits and I would be homeless. In short, I had no time of my own to think. I could only respond to the demands that were a part of the transition.

I walked all over downtown each day to blog, going from one computer bank to another until my time expired. But I had to blog. I did not miss a day. It kept me focused and the librarie were the only places where I could find some peace and quiet because there was no quiet in the building where I lived.

Music vibrated through the walls as my neighbor felt everyone should listen to music at one in the morning. A woman, who lived across the hall, would yell and scream into her cell phone at different lovers constantly. She had been waiting for a year twenty months for her social security allotment to be approved. That is considered a promotion from general relief(welfare) on Skid Row. Once that allotment is approved, one is considered upper middle class. It is like finding gold. When a person gets approved, the whole neighborhood knows. She was there before I got there and she was still waiting for it after I moved out. However, I found out that after I moved out she relapsed terribly, was kicked out of the building and now is living in the streets. Everyone says I would not recognize her.

Then I moved in here. I did not say good bye to anyone from that building. I was not scared of this move. I aggressively pursued it. My confidence was back. I did not tell anyone I was moving out. I just moved and before you know it. I was here. I wanted to share everything with you.

I wasted no time in purchasing a work station from Office Depot. I had new household goods. I discarded some more of the institutional tatoos that were implanted on me and for the first time in two years, I had total silence. I not only have external silence but through the passage of time I have more inner peace-emotional uncertainty in many cases has been resolved. Doubts and anxieties have subsided.

Most people on Skid Row do not like silence because they must deal with themselves. I cherish it and had worked for years to finally seize it. I thought for sure that I had arrived when I stopped consuming drugs while triathlon training. I was ready to grow and lead a productive life. Yet life threw me curve. So what!!!!

I survived it!!!!! I am sitting here talking to you and telling you the process of my emotional survival and you my friends were so instrumental in that. Where once the skyline was so distant and forboding, I am closer to it, I am four floors up and can see the details of it, feel a part of it and my activities extend beyond it. My world is expanding.

I have met some virtual friends on the internet and they message me throughout the day providing me with support and encouragement. A couple of old friends are back in my life and they call me or message me and we chat. All of these things have been developing but they have come together in such a nice way.

Private bath rooms. My own keys. My own mail box. I do not go to a building and have meals handed to me in a paper bag. I no longer need someone to sign their name on a meeting record sheet witnessing my attendance to an AA,CA meeting. Those sheets were just as much a part of me as my eyes and mouth for the last 18 months. They are a staple of Skid Row.

I see grass outside of my windows as well as the leaves of trees swaying within arms reach. Greenery everywhere for me to see. When I walk out of the front door of the building, my business is in the opposite direction of the critical mass of despair that is, for the most part, the signature of Skid Row. I no longer have to hear "Cavi, Cavi. Weed. Weed". I no longer hear "Red White and Blue", the mating call for Welfare fraud. I am not in that environment.

Before I moved from the Marshall House to this building, I walked around and saw many people that I had met during my tenure on Skid Row. Most of them are living on the streets. It is sad to see but I had shed so many tears watching people relapse and go backwards in many ways that I had no more to shed. I accepted that as a part of the Skid Row experience. I just paused for a second to absorb it and in my mind I would say goodbye. And I never see any of them. Rarely do I see someone from the Transition House or The Marshall House. The ones I plan on seeing have given me their contact information. But I never go back and visit those places. They are my past. I grew from it but I am no longer engulfed by it and the atmosphere of desperation, stagnation, hopelessness that goes with the endless cycle of chaos that most experience in one form or another in this neighborhood.

When I go to work, I no longer see the swarms of people in front of the missions as I no longer pass them. I hate the pain that I saw for so long.
I just don't see as much of it.

I was unhappy that I had to go to the court ordered classes after spending 8 months at the Transistion House. I was suppose to be in a program. I did everything they told me but the judge wanted something else. So after 4 months in jail, and 8 months in a shelter, the judge said I still had to take a year of classes--52 for anger management. Needless to say, I was angry about it. I spoke to Jose Egurbide every morning about it. Well, that is not exactly true. I yelled at him on the phone about it. I was livid. He would let me rant and rave. I thought I would never get through it. But interesting enough the classes were on the other side of the skyline. So I look at it philosophically. I will have completed 35 tomorrow night. 17 to go. Piece of cake. I remember when I could not figure out how I would pay for them. I have paid for all of them except the last 100 dollars. That will be paid within a couple of weeks. I have the money but I will pay it at my convenience. I am ahead in payments by two months.

So now I am not angry. I am not terrified. I look at this whole experience philosophically. In fact, I am amazed at it. It is rapidly settling in the horizon behind me and I see a new sun rising for me. It is beautiful. I have much to do but I am at the point where I enjoy putting together the pieces for success, internally and externally. Sure I have frustrating moments or worries of doubt but I know I will survive. I remember those camping trips. I remember those nights wringing out my clothes. I remember getting through everything and I somehow have found my way. I will continue to do just that.

So as you can see my friends, I have had a lot to absorb and I just could not sit down and talk to you. I thought about each and every one of you and how much you have meant to me and my growth. Eric Richardson gave me a tremendous gift when he told me to blog about my recovery and experience on Skid Row. He told me that people talk about recovery but no one really talks about it. Well, I certainly did not know anything about it but I do now. And frankly I dont think most people know about it. Otherwise we would have more references upon which to locate answers to questions about the process. My process was delayed a couple of years because of fate. Or in the big picture was this suppose to be a part of it. A tough challenge to test my strength of conviction. It has opened up been instrumental in creating routes of discovery while I am on this road for truth
and understanding.

Going through this tunnel of experience and answering the challenges that were presented to me, seemed so overwhelming and insurmountable. Progress was inch by inch. Step by step. But slowly, over time distance was put between me and the past and progress toward my goals were being made. Layers of skin were being shed and eventually a certain synergistic momentum was taking a life of its own.

Suddently with all of the progress-- physical, mental,emotional, financial,tangible and intangible there has been an equilibrium of growth and development. This is necessary to avoid states of anomie, imbalances or disequilibriums of vital prerequisites for stable existence and also set the stage to further along the path of actualization of goals.

I look out of this window and suddenly I can see certain things in the Skyline that I could not see when I first arrived. I was too far from them. I could not see the details. Just like the view, I can see things in my life in technicolor that I could not see in the past or would not accept. I will share these things with you over the coming weeks. I also have been able to form some theories of my own about Skid Row and the dynamics of all of the stakeholders. It has taken time. The theories are my own but hopefully will generate thought and discussion.

However the truth starts with me and I will bare it all as I have come to know it. And taking time out to experience aspects of normality again have helped me appreciate many things. So in effect, it was a working vacation of sorts. But I am back and this last term of independent study on Skid Row should be quite interesting and productive.

All of this has come together during the Olympics. It was four years ago, a few months before the Olympic Games in Athens when I started training for the triathlon. My father had just died and I told him I would complete a triathlon. In doing the training I found out so much about myself and found myself again and stopped consumption of drugs. And the detour of life tested me. But I really loved those Olympic Games that year and felt close to my dad as we always enjoyed them together, especially when I was a AAU swimmer. The Olympic Games are about people overcoming obstacles in life. Many of those obstacles are with oneself, no matter what the circumstances. It is a test to maintain perspective and purpose even in trying times. I guess the past two years drove that point home with me. I look foward to sharing with you my evolved perspective in the coming few weeks. My classes will be over at the end of the year and I will be free to start fresh some place and no doubt I will leave my home town and do just that.

I am glad that I have had this time to talk with you again. I will be talking to you every day again. There is much to talk about. So until tomorrow. Good night world. I love you.

Lyndon Hotel Open House

2008-08-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, Anita Nelson, executive director of SRO Housing Corp., announced the opening of the Lyndon Hotel Apartments on 7th and Wall in the Skid Row community. Some final odds and ends were left to be done even thought the multi-million dollar renovation was completed. They were origionally scheduled to open its doors for residents on July 1. That opening date had to be postponed but the SRO staff has done a tremendous job in getting things together and processing all of the applicants. It is no easy to task to coordinate the information flow from banks and government agencies in such an undertaking.

This morning the Lyndon Hotel opened its doors for viewing. It is my understanding that individuals who were assigned a unit were able to view it and the rest of the facility.

The building will start move ins very shortly.

"Red, White and Blue"------- Medicare/Medicaid Fraud on Skid Row

2008-08-06T18:44:00.000-07:00

Today,the FBI served search warrants on health care providers operated by Pacific Health Corporation; Tustin Hospital and Medical Center and Los Angeles Doctors Hospital Corporation for Medicare/Medicaid fraud. Apparently the Instituitions used homeless Skid Row residents to defraud Medicare/Medicaid.
The Los Angeles Times has a the details of the story.

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I read something recently where a person said, in effect, that the purpose of a writer is to write, not what we know or can write ourselves, but to write what we can not write for ourselves. Keeping in that spirit, I will not write any further about the medicaid scandal news story. I will write about matters relating to it while providing other opinions about the story.
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"Red, White and Blue. Red, White and Blue". Those were the first utterances other than "Cavi.Cavi. Weed. Weed" on San Julian Street when I moved into the Marshall House. I had no idea what it meant but it was clear that whatever it was, there was a connection to illegal activity. Unless there was a new drug on the street or a new slang term for an already existing one, it was not drug related. Instinctively, I speculated that it had something to do with fraud. I asked a friend of mine and he confirmed that "Red, White and Blue" referred to the white Medicare card with red and blue strips across it and that it was one of many ways that people were able to make money on Skid Row.

Men stand in front of all of the missions and shout Red, White and Blue every day. They pick up people and drive them, in a van, to a medical facility. They paid a friend of mine one hundred and fifty dollars each time they picked him up he says.
They used his card on several occasions.

My friend is very very smart. He knows how to figure things out. It is his opinion that once they register you at the facility, your card is used many times--not just while you are there but when you are not around. The logic being that it is difficult to track the person. He is homeless and, furthermore, the person is subject to illnesses. Therefore it would not draw too much attention. So provider keeps billing.

Another variation of that scenario, according to my friend who has witnessed this is as follows. They recruit anyone. The person does not have to have a Medicare card. They just need a body. The recruiter already has a Medicare card in their possesion, stolen or acquired from beating a person. The card, gained from the beating, serves as payment for a drug debt.

As I said earlier, hearing "Red,White and Blue" was not the first time I received the signal that criminal activity was alive and well in Skid Row. I wondered into a facility with a new met acquaintance when I first arrived to get some clothes. A woman who worked at the place was very upset. She stated to her superior, in front of several people, that she was tired of seeing her co workers steal clothes donated to homeless people. These clothes would come in every day but the workers would go through them first and take what they wanted first. They clothes would not be taken to be worn by these workers. The person indicated that her fellow workers owned a thrift shop and the clothes taken were used to increase the merchandise inventory for the purpose of selling them to the general public. A year later when I strolled through Skid Row with City of Los Angeles officials and members of the editorial board of the LA Times, another woman ran up to us and made the same claim, that similiar activity was occurring at another facility.

Four months ago, a man, whom I know, walked into the place where I work, to retrieve some mail. He moved out before I began working there and was surprised to see me. I was introduced to him by some of the people in Skid Row who are trying to make a difference. The introduction gave me a certian amount of instant credibility with him and we quickly developed a rapport between us. Our friendship and mutual respect has continued to grow since then.

"Man, you look tired," I said, as he approached the window.
"Yeah, I am. We are having some type of inspection and audit coming up and they are getting the books ready," he responded. "They have me working overtime to help get things ready".
That statement raised an eyebrow so I bluntly asked him a question,
"Are they teaching you how to double count the beds and employ that application in preparing for this inspection as you say?"
There was no hesitation in his answer. "Yes, they are.". He looked at me with this look on his face that seemed to be asking "How could he know?"

Working in the corporate world, one becomes familiar with certain basic office procedures and business practices. When you see things that are a departure from certain accepted practices those activities catch your eye and you store that in a memory bank. The problem is that you see that too many times in Skid Row. They are not isolated incidents.

Skid Row is associated with criminal activity. Perenially, much of that association is linked to drug sales and prostitution. That image of Skid Row serves its purpose in deflecting attention away from those that are making millions in bogus paper trails. That activity is not practiced by the crack street dealers or prostitutes. It is a regular activity of those who sit in office suites far removed from the Skid Row arena.

It does not take much to sense criminal activity on Skid Row. You can smell it. Your instincts pick it up as soon when you land on the 'Row'. It does not take much to figure out what is going on. I tried to write a couple of news organizations once to see if they would give Skid Row more attention than just the ordinary holiday dinner segments. I felt that any one with any street sense could walk around Skid Row and smell that something, many things were array. With good investigative reporting, they might have even won a Pulitzer Prize. But nothing happened.

And then the press conference took place about the Medicare scandal. Sure enough Skid Row was on every ones' mind. I received a call from a City official. He asked me,"Walt, have you heard of anything on the street called 'Orange and Blue'?"I have a reporter on the line and she wants to know." I chuckled when I heard him say that. A reporter, eh. I asked myself if this was what a reporter did. Does a reporter call up a City official after a story comes out, and in doing so, take a "Cliff's Notes" approach to researching stories. Or does a reporter take the lead in investigating issues that need examination and understanding? You can not take the "Cliff's Notes" approach, the short cut in research , in understanding the various elements and issues that are a part of the Skid Row phenomenon. People think that Skid Row is a place. Yes it is.

However Skid Row is more than just a place. The very problems that people have in Skid Row are problems that can be found across America. It is a microcosm of sorts. And like in Skid Row, attention only comes to respective issues after a crisis captures the spotlight in America. A reporter asks a few questions and is satisfied with a few answers, not knowing if the information source is primary or secondary. Furthermore the interests in the issues that gather the spotlight lasts only as long as the ratings allow. That alone perpetuates the media, in some ways, to continue being lagging collectors for information as opposed to leading researchers and entities that provoke thought and necessary change in areas that are vital to the health of America's individual citizens and its collective community.

These pieces of gold that provide knowledge and insights into human behavior and illness are not burried and difficult to find. You can stumble over them on
Skid Row. However to do so news entities must be present. They must be diligent in their dedication to understanding the problems of individuals and by doing so they can understand and explain the problems of America at large to the American family and encourage the powers at be to take steps to cure them, --not a patch work "spotlight reactionary approach" but a methodical approach based on the total understanding of the single elements and components and how they integrate and create devastating outcomes to individuals, families and communities.

Let me give you another example of how many things are not addressed in articles about Skid Row. It was the LAPD who, through the observant eye of its undercover officers, noticed aberrant behavior that began this investigation of fraud. They are often accused of putting the homeless in jail. However no one is giving them credit for discovering this multi million dollar fraud that exploits the homeless. Let us be fair. I might add that in articles and in the broadcast media there was talk about how criminals exploit the homeless. I pose this for thought. The media is not stealing millions of dollars away from the homeless. But I say this. By only reacting to "spotlight" news, are they, in one way or another, realizing it or not, exploiting Skid Row to generate news ratings. I say change this and become a force for change. If Skid Row were more in the watchful eye of those that can keep exploiters and criminals at bay,by exposing the truth, perhaps they could dissuade those from surrendering to the temptation of committing crimes and perpetuating many illnesses that are in Skid Row.

Yes, the exploiters take advantage of those that have drug habits and, yes, they know that a few dollars offered them will be accepted because they will be able to satisfy that jones with the purchase of new drugs. However that is not all of it.
The exploiters take advantage of an attitude or perception, right or wrong of those that feel they have been disenfranchised--that it is ok to get back at the government and rip them off because they are the government, not realizing those tax dollars, ultimately, come from individual citizens. That must be pointed out as well.
All aspects of Skid Row illnesses need to be addressed so that Skid Row can advance toward healthiness. In doing so America can advance as well.

Skid Row Art Exhibit

2008-08-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

Powerful painting isn't it. The man is laying on the sidewalk with nothing. Yet he has his faith. With that, some may say he has it all.
This captures the activities on most Skid Row streets. I find it interesting how the artist has captured the sense of community in his work.

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On July 22, I was walking down the hall of my new building when I ran into Barbara. She is one of the artists of Skid Row. She told me about the Skid Row Art Exhibit that was to be held at the James Wood Community Center on 5th and San Julian.
She recently has been recovering from back surgery but was rather nimble piling numerous paintings in her wheel chair to cart them over to the center.

According to Barbara this was the first art exhibit in the history of Skid Row. I told Barbara that I would not miss it and I was able to keep my word, entering the center shortly before going to work. I was surprised at the quantity of paintings that were present. The paintings were refreshing and I was impressed at how uplifting they were.

Don Garza interviewed Barbara one day a few months ago while she was painting outside of San Julian Park. She commented on that very point--that her paintings are not sad and the reasons for that. Please watch the video.

When I began my Skid Row experience, I believed deep down that it was going to make me a better person. There was no doubt in that. I also believed that there was a beautiful side of Skid Row. I just had not experienced it but I believed that it existed. The art exhibit, Skid Row Basketball League and other activities in Skid Row are indications of that very point. There is beauty in Skid Row. There are great lessons in Skid Row. As for me, I am finally beginning to experience the positive sides of this experience. Please watch the video.

Shooting Near Central Ave/7th St.

2008-08-01T08:31:00.000-07:00

According to neighborhood witnesses, a shooting occurred last night in the vicinity of 7th St. and Central. Indeed, shortly after 9:00Pm paramedics rushed down 7th street east towrds Central. Reports from individuals who were at the scene said that two male hispanics were standing on the sidewalk when a car drove up, stopped and shot them with an automatic rifle.

Police helicopters were seen in the sky searching the area for suspect
Reports could not be confirmed that the victims died at the scene.

The Skid Row "Operation Facelift" Mural Update

2008-07-31T13:25:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, on this blog, the Skid Row Community Wall was seen. OG and his crew were cleaning the street and covering the once dreary wall with a fresh coat of paint that was cheery and uplifting. However the work was in the beginning stages.

Theses photos were taken last week and, as you can see, the mural is now in full bloom, becoming a complete mosaic quilt showing all facets and contributors to the community. One wall part of the wall is particularly interesting. It is the top picture where notes and messages are written much like one would see on a cast to repair a broken leg. That comparison is apropos in that the people who created the wall are the same group of people who are continually working to repair the spirits of the Skid Row community. Much thanks go out to OG, Lesley Taplin and General Jeff for their tireless efforts in improving the Skid Row community.

The Final Move(Part 2)

2008-07-26T19:34:00.000-07:00

Murder Crime scene taped off by the LAPD. This Murder took place at the "Drug Swap Meet" outside of the Union Rescue Mission on San Julian St. There have been two murders on that street within the last two months. Needless to say I am glad I am no longer living on that street. I also do not have to ride my bike past crack smokers and people injecting themselves with heroin every night coming home from work.
The Drug Swap Meet on San Julian Street outside of the Union Rescue Mission.

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When I walked out of Karl's office there was inside of me a sense of calm--a belief that my life was going to change. I knew it. I worked hard for it to change. I had been putting together to get out of Skid Row. Now I needed to get to the Courtland. There I could hear myself think and bring together the management and communication systems that I created and begin to plan my next move, to leave skid row. There was no doubt that this was going to be my last and final move. I knew I was close to experiencing freedom like I had never before experienced in my life. No matter where in the world I traveled, or what VIP lounges I was sitting in high profile, exclusive nightclubs where the paparazzi frequented, there was always one truth--I was a prisoner to cocaine.

When that part of my life was over I was certain that I was going to begin enjoying a healthy life. I don't mean a life without problems. I just mean a clean, wholesome life, a life of which I could be proud. I could exercise, study and pursue employment again. I had decided not to work until I released myself from that cocaine prison.

However fate stepped in and gave me another set of challenges--first jail for four and a half months, and, after that, 8 months in a one hundred male bed shelter in Skid Row, ordered by the court. Most people do not realize that I did not come to Skid Row to get loaded or get laid. I did not come here for rehab. I came here because the court told me I had to come here. It was as if I was in the Twilight Zone. After all of those years fighting to rid myself of a drug dependent lifestyle, I was ordered, by the court, to go to an area where there are more drugs per square foot than probably anywhere else in Los Angeles. I just shook my head. I saw more drugs and more people using drugs than I ever saw when I was consuming drugs. It was absurd.

After the Transition House came the Marshall House, the filthiest and dirtiest of all Skid Row Streets. Men look like zombies sitting and standing against the wall smoking crack at the southern end of San Julian Street near 6th. Around that corner, on 6th and San Julian, turning east, you would immediately walk into the heroin shooting gallery. Men and women sit on the sidewalk or in cars shooting heroin in their veins. Syringes liter the street. I lived in the heart of a cesspool. Every day I had to walk through every kind of sickness known to man.
Drugs. Prostitution. Violence. Ever morning I had to navigate my way through a crowded side walk and dodge the drug dealers. "Cavi, cavi. Mota, mota" were the morning shouts letting everyone know that the drug mart was open.

I was consumed with the Skid Row atmosphere. I was determined not to let any part of the negative Skid Row state of mind permeate my being. I survived it and now I was getting ready to say good-bye. I was only going to be a block away yet it was a completely different world with a different value system. And I could only see it on the surface. I would not realize many things until I was finally in the building and experiencing it but for now I was at peace. I knew it was going to happen.

I left Karl's office with the confidence that I would be moving soon. My only concern was that I not have to wait two or three weeks to see the unit. Certainly things can get put aside as management of buildings deal with contingency matters. On-going contengencies are a matter of course for Skid Row. But I learned to be patient and I was going to exercise patience for the amount of time that it would be necessary. I needed to reflect on the past. Say good bye to it and plan for the future.

With that in mind, I walked through Skid Row,visiting every place where I had been. I usually avoided the "drug swap meets" throughout skid row but now I walked through them. I wanted to remember all of the things and people that I had seen on the sidewalks. I needed to understand how being thrust in that environment gave me a sense of hopelessness. I used to walk westbound on 5th or 6th streets and look up at the skyscrapers that seemed to form a perimeter from north to south, creating a moat that separated me from sanity. I wanted to be on the other side of that skyline where things were "normal".

There was a deep need to understand, in all of the various ways, how far I had come and, in the most important of way, understanding that I had no barriers between me and anything I want to do. I had defeated the illusions of defeat that engulfed me when I first arrived on Skid Row. Battles were fought every day, sometimes every second, to maintain hope and faith.

I did not fight those battles alone. I was provided ammunition from the gestures of men and women who took the time to encourage me to fight myself and continue to have faith. I remembered each and every face and every tear I shed when they talked to me as I walked the streets of Skid Row. It was necessary for me to walk by every physical landmark that had some significance to me. One of them was the guard shack at the Transition House. I walked by that little shack that guards the parking lot many times and thought about the times I sat in there and wrote. It is hard to believe I volunteered to sit in that shack for 12 hours a day, from 8:00AM to 8:00PM writing longhand on blank pieces of stapled paper. I still have everything I wrote starting from the first day I arrived there.

This time I stopped and stared at that little guard shack. I was saying good bye to it. I may see it again but my state of mind will be different.

I stared at the Aon building that was stuck out among the office towers when I turned westward in the Transition House parking lot. On my very first night in Skid Row, when I was released from jail, I saw it. It became emblematic of many things to me.

I kept walking and remembering all of the men that injected strength into my system, vitamins that kept my faith alive. Then I began to notice something. As I walked down the streets, some men started waving to me. Never before has so many people waved to me on the Skid Row streets. They were the men that gave me strength. They had left the Transition House before I did. Each time one left, I felt more alone. In jail it was the same way. The dormitory in which I was placed had 100 beds. 99 were filled when I walked through the electrically locked doors to a maddening noise of men yelling while playing cards or watching a television show. Ironically, they all wanted to watch the television show "Cops". I could never understand that. When I left there was only one other person who had been there longer than I. He left shortly after I did.

The Transition House was the same way only this time I was used to being left behind.
It was different. I shed tears for different reasons but I shed many tears each time someone left. And now, I saw that they were all back. I talke to one man and was told he was staying at the LA Mission. I talked to another man and he was at the Union Rescue Mission. They had lost their jobs and apartments. They had relapsed. I kept encountering men from those nine months at the Transition House. So many of them were living in tents on the streets.

They were all proud of me. They wanted to know how my writing was coming along. They had all encouraged me to write just like in jail they always encouraged me to write. "Keep writing, Walter. Keep doing what you are doing. It is going to work out for you. Keep writing." And I kept writing.

I was baffled to see ninety percent of the men who were in the Transition House back in the streets or in shelters. It was hard to see that many of them could not follow the advice that they had given me. I kept focused. I kept doing what I was doing. Many times I did not know what I was doing but I kept doing it. I asked so many questions and I tried at many times to understand the answers. It is strange that as I walked the streets of Skid Row looking at my soon to be past life in the neighborhood, I came to light that I was beginning to understand all that those men and women had tried to explain to me. Finally I am beginning to clear away the fog and see their message, understand their words and feel their dreams and hopes for me, dreams and hopes that they could not reach for themselves.

It was as if I was saying good bye to many of those men. I may see them again but it would be different. I was no longer in a limited stated of mind. I was no longer fignting to survive. I was no longer grasping for anything that would let me hang on for another day. I had made it and I knew it. I was leaving the stormiest seas of my life and heading for calmer waters. Where I was going, I did not know I only knew I was going to enjoy the trip. I will carry the words of each of those men and women as I walk each step, one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Their words will live in me and I will be a shining light for them to follow, a guide to where they have not been before. They took care of me, hounded me, cajoled me into stength and I won't let myself down or them. I let them know that. But they already knew. It was good to see them and say thank you again.

On Tuesday, July 8, I had my interview. Everything went fine. I could not see the apartment as Danny the manager was busy but I called him and he told me to be there the next day at 11 in the morning. I spent the remaining of the day. getting ready. I purchased a money order for the deposit as no checks are accepted in Skid Row for any form of business that I know of. In many cases money is not accepted.

Next, I walked to Chrysalisto take a look at that office. Many hours were spent in that place as I used their computers to write my blogs. Many mornings I would come back and see that comments were left for me to read. I remembered all of them. "You are no longer alone as you walk with dignity and face the challenges ahead." "This is an interesting blog. Keep writing." Each time I saw a comment I was excited. For most bloggers those comments are only opinions and feedback on topics. Those comments kept my spirits alive. They kept me going and each time I saw one from people that I never before met, tears ran down my face. It is difficult to explain how such kindness kept me alive. Simple acts of kindness from one human being to another can do so much. I know because acts of kindness did so much for me. Whenever I read those words on my blog, I never felt alone. I felt like I had friends, new friends that believed in me. It was so important for me.

"Dont stop writing." "keep writing". "Your posts are improving each time." I sang those words in my head each time I saw them.

Finally, on Wednesday, July 9, at 11:00AM, I saw the unit and was in love with it. I couldnt wait to move in. It was bright and cheery. It had two large windows that allowed me to look west and view the downtown skyline. The skyline no longer looked threatening to me as it did when I first arrived on Skid Row. I remember one comment on my blog where a woman mentioned how those huge buildings with all of that money were looking down on the little people of Skid Row. She was correct in many ways and i was intimidated by those buildings when I first landed on Skid Row. But now I was within reach, I thought, figuratively and literally, as I stood looking out of the window. The street below was so quiet. It was like any other street in New York lined with brownstone buildings.

I was planning my future as I stood in the window. I knew I needed a workstation to be organized, efficient and productive in my next phase and I made a note to see if Office Depot had any in stock.

When I was at the Transition House, I was hesitant to leave. That is not true. Let me be honest. I was terrified to leave that place and move into the Marshall House. Not now. I was eager and ready to mow down anything in my way. I could not wait to get in because I knew that I was going to have fun building my life while living in this unit.

I told Danny I wanted it. I knew it long before I saw it. I dreamed about it. At first he said for me to come back on Friday. He took a look in my eyes and he changed his mind. "Come back tomorrow at 11." he said. That is the power of desire. He knew I did not want to waste one minute shedding the past pain and beginning anew.

On Thurday, July 10, at 11 in the morning, I walked into Danny's office. We talked about many things while I filled out the necessary forms and finally signed the lease. It was a great beginning as Danny is a consumate professional and as a colleague I hope to learn much from him. He appreciated my commercial real estate background so there was much we could share with eachother. He showed me how to operate the front door while at the same time checking the keys. My heart was beating in great anticipation like an athlete preparing for a big race, waiting for the gun to go off and the race to begin.

We went upstairs and I patiently heard his presentation about the trash, rules and other pertinent matters. Finally he handed me the keys. It was mine. The past was over in so many ways. 99% of Skid Row, mentally and physically was behind me, to the east. My windows looked to the west. Everyplace I needed to go to was to the west. I no longer had to hear "cavi, cavi. weed. weed."

Finally, after retiring from drug usage for almost two years, I no longer had to see them or hear about them. Finally I could move on. The Final Move had started. The gun went off. I prepared for this race. I endured. I persevered. I was finally in my last term of a rigorous independent study curriculum and could see graduation ahead from the University of Skid Row.

100 million dollar New Generation fund Unveiled at the Yankee

2008-07-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

DLANC Resident Director,Central City East General Jeff and Mayor Anthony Villaraigosa stand outside of the Yankee in Skid Row where the conference on Affordable Housing took place. The conference was sponsored by Enterprise Community Partners.
Jim Buie, Security Supervisor for SRO Housing Corp.
,while patrolling the perimeter outside of the Yankee. Making sure that everything is smooth running for the mayor's visit.

On Monday, July 21, an Affordable Housing conference was held at SRO Housing's Yankee Hotel. Anita Nelson was asked to host the conference with only a couple of hours to prepare for it. There was no problem as the maintenance department keeps the buildings in top condition and can respond to any contingency.

Mayor Villaraigosa and Enterprise Community Partners CEO Doris Koo were present to unveil the newly created New Genersation Fund. The fund is a 100 million dollar
pool of funds, made possible by a banking consortium, for the development and preservation of affordable housing.

Former senator John Edwards, the chairman of the Half in Ten campaign, was also in attendance.

The Final Move (Part 1)

2008-07-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

520 Wall Street.
The Courtland. My new residence. The building with the huge glass front. This street is no different than one you would see in New York - a quiet, brownstone lined street.
I put this iconic inspirational saying on the back of the door when I moved in to keep me fighting. The last thing I did when I walked out of that room forever was to rip it from the back of the door.
Room 378, Marshall House. This is where I lived for 9 months. Moved out on July 10, 2008. I made sure that room was perfectly clean when I left. I remembered my father telling our YMCA group that statement when we left our first overnight camp experience in Soledad Canyon as a kid. "Always leave it spotless, like you have never been there." Yes, dad, I am listening.
The Marshall House on San Julian St, the loudest, filthiest and most drug infested street on Skid Row. A battle for its soul is raging on an on going basis. I was told to make the Marshall House work for me. I listened. It did for me what was necessary. I did what was necessary to do while I was there.
The gate to my very first stop on Skid Row, the Transition House.
The aisle in which I slept for 71/2 months at the Transition House. They give you a bed and a locker. Two people who lived on that aisle have died from overdoses after they left the facility.

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About three months ago, I visited the residence of Wesley, a co worker and friend. Wesley grew up in my neighborhood, around the corner from me. I wrote about him in previous postings. In those postings it is clear that Wesley has been sort of a guiding light for me in many respects.

Before he moved to his place Wesley lived across the hall from me at the Marshall House. I was glad he was there, not only in the building but across the hall from me as I was unsteady in my self confidence and pessimistic about my future. Wesley was a link to home and a pillar of strength.

A few months after I moved in, Wesley moved out of the Marshall House into The Courtland, around the corner from where I lived. The Courtland is on the most quiet street in Skid Row. The Central Division Police Station is on that street. Therefore people avoid it. To me, that was one of the benefits of being on that street. The police station kept anyone who was engaged in illegal activity off of it.

When I visited his place, I knew I had to go to that building. It was so quiet and it had air conditioning which is a rarity on Skid Row. I believe it is the only one of twenty six buildings that is managed by the company that has air conditioning. Wesley had a street view. He said he would not trade his unit for any place else in the neighbhorhood. There were larger and newer units but they either cost more or were on the eastern edge of Skid Row. Wesley, like myself, was not interested in moving east. We had the desire to move west. My first westerly move was from Crocker Street to San Julian St. I was on the waiting list to move into a vacant unit in the inventory of units that my employer had but I had no idea how long it would take. I had been on the list since I moved into the Marshall House.

I was notified that my rent was going up from 141 dollars to 429 dollars on June 1.
It is customary in Skid Row for the rent to be increased once you secured a job and have worked for some time. That is the way it works on Skid Row. With that notification I needed to expedite,if at all possible, my move out of the Marshall House, which is considered transitional housing, into permanent housing.

My origional goal was to be out of the Marshall House by the beginning of the summer of 2008 and I wanted to keep that time schedule. I was ready to move. I had been preparing for it in many ways. I opened a new checking account that did not charge me a monthly fee as did the previous account. I bought new plastic storage containers as well as household items for my future place. Per Wesley's direction, I authorized my employer to deduct my rent from my paycheck so I would not have to be bothered with paying the rent and it wouldk provide the management company with a solid comfort level to motivate them in letting me rent a unit from them.

I began to ask Karl, every day, about the availability of a unit in the Courtland.
Someone had just moved in there and he told me that other units were coming available. He worked for the owner/management company also. Unfortunately I was told that there was an unusually low vacancy rate of 2% in the buildings the company managed. In Skid Row, most buildings are full in the cold months as people want to get out of the cold weather. Shelters are filled up and people behave themselves so they are not evicted from housing or discharged from shelter facilities. In the warm months, the vacancy rate increases because people want to be outside. The consensus among Skid Row veterans is that the vacancy rate increases in the summer because people would prefer to spend money on drugs and be outside rather than use that money for housing.

Finally,one day, as I was walking across fifth street, I heard someone yell my name. It was Karl. "Walter, don't leave", were his words as he was trying to end a conversation with someone so he could inform me of the latest events. I knew there was a breakthough.

First he told me about the Rivers but the rent was too high. He also mentioned he had several rooms that were coming available at the Courtland. I wanted the Courtland, I told him. It suited my needs perfectly. Every person on Skid Row raves about the loft apartments in the Rivers and how large they are. It was a little bit over my budget and it was on the eastern end of Skid Row. As I said earlier, I wanted to go west. One block west would make so much difference in my life.
It would take me off of the dirtiest, filthiest and loudest street on Skid Row and put me on the most quiet street where I could hear myself think. I would be closer to Metropolis Books
where I am a frequent customer as well as the bank. And one thing I liked to see were the new art galleries on Main Street.

I found that most people who are thrilled to be at the Rivers and the New Terminal are those that plan on being on Skid Row for the duration. If they are happy then I am happy for them. But I am looking at my tenure on Skid Row to end. I do not want to lose focus. When I was in college, my father told me to not get distracted by things that were not important. My stay there was transitory, he said.
Well, I did not follow his direction. I got distracted and did not accomplish my goal. My stay on Skid Row is transitory and I must make sure that each day I do not lose sight of what it takes to keep moving forward and out of here. It is so easy to get stuck.

I thought I was going to be stuck here forever. Now my perspective is changing. I do not have to be stuck here. It all comes out to how badly I want to do anything.
If I elect to stay here that is fine. The point is having a choice. Now I am in a position to make a choice and my position to make an objective choice increases in strength every day as I learn more about myself, what I want to do and begin to search for ways to accomplish my goals.

Karl told me to have some paper work completed and returned to him. As I sat in his little office I had the feeling that I was about to make a major change in my life, a significant, substantive change that will catapult me into a whole new level in ways that I did not yet know.

I completed the paperwork but after a couple of days, Karl told me there was a delay in the units being cleared for rent. However he did tell me which ones were available. I went to see it without him knowing about it and discovered that it was on the 4th floor of the Courtland and it had a view that overlooked the downtown skyline. The view itself beat the caged in and depressing feeling I received whenever I looked outside of my Marshall House window into the side of the building next door at the Russ Hotel.

I learned while going through this experience on Skid Row that I had to be patient. Don't obsess on things. Don't worry myself to death. It only made things worse. I have become pretty good at letting things go. My only concern was that somebody would get it as a result of politics or a pre-existing agreement with a government agency that gave them the right of first refusal of any units that became available. Three were available in the Courtland. Only one was facing the skyline. I wanted that room. It was a writer's dream.

I had been preparing for my move out of the Marshall House from the very first day I had arrived there. In the Transition House I was just trying to survive, waiting out the time I had to be there and to deal with the trauma of past events; low self esteem and a crushed ego that were a consequence of the events I experienced. It was not easy but I made it.

At the Marshall House I had to gain a footing. For the first three weeks I had to go to County of Los Angeles classes for job development-Money management classes that were mandated by the management of the Marshall House as well as Men's group discussions once a week. I wondered if there was ever going to be time to work on moving forward. I remember getting my driver license renewed. That was a big step. The whole time I was worried that I could not make anything happen but they did happen-one piece at a time. Slowly but surely.

So I went back to preparing for my move. I bought plastic containers. I bought towels etc. I wanted to replace everything that reminded me of pain and hardship.
I bought new things--not additional things but new things. I replaced shirts.
Threw out the ones given to me or donated them. etc etc. I kept refining my operations. Progress is measured in many ways. Discipline and habits is one that is overlooked but vital to sustain growth and progress. I focused on those while waiting.

Finally Karl called me on my phone and told me that I could begin the final paper work to obtain the unit. Yes, it was mine--unit 428, the one that I wanted so badly but did not count on getting it. I knew Karl would do the best he could to get it for me.do I developed my relationship with him over time and he appreciated my patience. He respected me. It is another example of how goodwill that is developed can yield great things when you need it.

As soon as I filled out the necessary paper work, I darted out of his office to get him some documentation that was required for my application; bank and earnings statements. Upon obtaining them I sprinted back to his office and put the documents in his hand. On Skid Row, it is best to do things as quickly as possible. Everyone is accustomed to people dropping the ball. I was not going to leave anything left to chance.

"Ok Walter, you are set. All we have to do is have you interview with Ernest and have Danny show you the unit". Ernest had come over to me and saw me on my laptop while I was waiting for Karl earlier. He had to deal with a contingency as a woman ran into his office shouting obscenities, ending with "You no good honky." Yes, racist attitudes do spring up on Skid Row. More on that later.
I was surprised at this woman because I had seen her on and off on San Julian. It was clear she had relapsed and was coming down from a binge of drug usage. Fortunately I was able to develop a rapport with Ernest. Danny already knew me from a previous job interview so I was a known quantity with him. That is important on Skid Row.

My part was done. With a quick handshake, I walked out of Karl's office, strolled through the Grecian column lobby of the Russ Hotel and out of the front doors.
All I had to do now was wait. Shortly, I knew I was moving out of the Marshall House. I knew I was leaving a lot of the pain behind me. A new life was going to start for me. I was excited. In a very short period of time, I knew I was going to begin my last term at the Universtiy of Skid Row.

Transition House Gets its Party On

2008-07-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

On Saturday night, The Transition House held a dance. The Transition House was the very first place I lived when I arrived on Skid Row, staying there for eight months before I moved into the Marshall House.

I moved out of the Marshall House Saturday and into the Courtland. I felt I had to go to the Transition House, where my Skid Row experience started and give them my support and take a walk down memory lane as well as dream about the future. After all, the staff and residents gave me much support while I was there.
And they still do.

That Saturday dance was another source of healing for me. It was the first dance party that I had attended in years. They were dances while I was a resident at the T
House at other locations in Skid Row while I was there. Either I did not have the five dollar door fee or I was just not in the mood. Most likely it was both.

My move to the Courtland marked another new beginning and took a tremendous weight off of my shoulders. I felt lighter and wanted to have a bit of recreation and recreation has indeed been missing in my life.

It was good to see people there that were there when I was there. They returned to give their support to the organization as well as to offer encouragement to the current residents.

Two Deaths on Skid Row Last Week

2008-07-14T11:04:00.000-07:00

Two drug related deaths occurred on Skid Row last week.

On Friday, July 11, a man was smoking crack on San Julian, near the location of the man in the yellow shirt in the above picture, when a man ran up to him, and hit him from behind. The man fell and his attacker immediately started to kick him in his body. There were reports that the victim was kicked in the neck and it was broken.

According to witnesses, he died on the way to the hospital. ]

This is the second murder that has happened on San Julian, between 5th and 6th streets within the last two months. That stretch of San Julian St is regarded as the worst street on Skid Row. Crack is bought and sold openly as well as smoked.

People harrass every person that walks by in an attempt to make crack sells.

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Earlier in the week, there was an over dose at the Golden West. The person was discovered dead in his/her room. According to people that know, the management immediately tested everyone and those who registered dirty from drug usage were evicted from the building.

That is what I mean by taking charge of the building and ensuring that the epidemic drug usage does not spread and infect even more people who are attempting to get their lives together.

In some buildings, tests can not be allowed but other measures can be used to make sure that illegal activities are not a part of the environment.

Skid Row Basketball League Begins Second Season

2008-07-07T21:01:00.000-07:00

The Skid Row 3 on 3 Street Basketball League opened up its Second Season on Saturday at Gladys Park. This season the league will field 10 teams in the men's division. Along with the men's division the league will have its first season for women. They began play with two teams.

According two General Jeff, the Director of Marketing, opening day was an outstanding success. The games were excellent and there was a great turn out of spectators to watch the athletes perform. He was particularly pleased with the assistance of the Skid Row Photography Club for helping out with "Media Day" events by taking photographs of the players and conducting interviews as well.

This was a special day for me as it was last year that Eric Richardson gave me the opportunity to write about the Skid Row 3 on 3 Streetball League in his blog, Blogdowntown. That opportunity started my blogging career. I do not get a chance to cover as many events as I would like because of my work schedule. I was glad that I could cover this one. It afforded me the opportunity to see how far Skid Row has come in its community groups and empowerment efforts by dedicated citizens.

Please come out and support the Skid Row Street Basketball League. The quality of basketball is high and the atmosphere uplifting. The league will be playing every Saturday for the balance of the summer months.

Betrayal on Skid Row #2

2008-07-02T22:39:00.000-07:00

last week I wrote a post titled Scandal in Skid Row. In that post I wrote about people relapsing and the policies of a program in the Skid Row neighborhood.

Apparently would I said caused a bit of an uproar. I did not mention any person's name. I did not mention a name of any program. Every program has "packaged deals" and every program has a person who has relapsed who has the name John. I purposely wrote the post like that because I wanted to see what would come of it. I must admit I was surprised as to the events that unfolded.

The very next day, after I published that post, I walked into a program, a program where I had been a frequent visitor. I was told I could no longer use their facilities. I asked why but the director chose not to provide me with an answer. The director does not owe me an explanation.

Later that day I was told by someone that she had received numerous phone calls about the post. The phone calls came from individuals who worked for different programs in the area. They all felt that the post was talking about their program.
Hmmm. I was told that these programs were on an alert to watch out for me.
Why I would be of concern to anyone is a mystery to me.

No one has to leak information in Skid Row. There is a great deal of gossip on Skid Row. People love to talk about other people. It distracts them away from their own problems. The probability that the general gossip is accurate is low. If a person gossips about why an employee no longer works at an organization, chances are the information is false. People are very defensive when it comes to the veracity of their stories-almost obssesive. .

However, there is one area of the Skid Row grapevine where,invariably, there is 100%accuracy. That area of gossip involves the subject matter of who has relapsed.
That information spreads like a fire in dry brush. Instantaneously, the whole neighborhood knows who is the latest statistic. It is fascinating how someone can relapse in one corner of the neighborhood and on opposite end of the neighborhood, everyone knows about it. They also know where the person was living and if the person was working. Everyone knows. Having an inside spy to leak information is not necessary.

My point is that everyone knows the truth. Everyone in Skid Row sees what is going on. Sure you have some people who are angry at the world and can not wait to say something negative about any organization or program. It is easy to figure out who they are once they open their mouths. More than likely, they have been to every program and were kicked out for one reason or another. It is very easy to discount what they have to say.

It makes no sense to chastise me for echoing what the community observes and knows to be true. Some things are opinion and other things are facts. It is fact that a program sends their clients to certain buildings. It is fact that the umbrella company owns the buildings. It is fact that they relapse.

That scenario is not the exclusive model of any particular organization in Skid Row. It could apply to anyone. Perhaps that is why a program worker called to tell me that more than a few individuals, from other programs, believed I was referring to them. It was suggested to me that if people think I was talking about their program, then there is something about their program they feel is wrong.

Some people would say that they can not control what happens in their buildings if it is not a sober living facility. That is a 100 percent cop out.

I live in a building which is one of many that are by an affordable housing developer/property manager. It owns both sober living and non sober living facilities. It was discovered that people were using drugs in one of their sober living facilities. The users were immediately evicted and management called a meeting of all tenants in all buildings. They made it perfectly clear that if a a tenant was discovered using or selling drugs in any of the buildings that they own and/or manage, the police would be called. They gave everyone clear warning. They made a commitment to keep their buildings drug free and protect the tenants who want to live a drug free life and leave the drug world behind them. Two days later, the LAPD conducted a search of their buildings and anyone who was engaged in illegal activity was arrested.

The executive management made a commitment to their tenants and they also held They did not turn a blind eye. Other organizations can do the same thing.

Last week, Mark Groubert wrote an article in LAweekly,about a high end drug rehab facility in Malibu. Two more articles were promoted in the same issue. Among other things discussed in that article is the fact that many drug rehab facilities or drug rehab related programs started when licensing was lenient, and the industry was unregulated or lightly regulated.

I have talked with some City Officials and they, across the board, have this one question. "To whom are these non profit organizations and drug rehab facilities accountable?" Certainly, most do not have to be held accountable to their clients. Some are not held accountable to their own conscience. It appears that the domiminant controlling force are the investors and people who donate money. Corruption is rampid, not only in high end racilities but in low end ones as well.

Nobody wants to change anything and, for the most part, no pressure is put on the organizations that have terrible success rates to change. If anyone speaks out within any of these organizations, they are subject to be fired or otherwise disciplined.

That is why I commend the organizations that I know make a 150 percent commitment to recovery. They do their best to eradicate their facilities and any environment to which they are connected of any illegal behavior or behavior which is against their mission of a sober and clean recovery for those who are fighting to maintain that process.

Mark Goubert's article I hope will be the start of open dialogue about different attitudes concerning policies and cooperation within the Skid Row community.
Mr Goubert stated in his article that one when person is directly helped to escape drug addiction, approximately 20 more people are indirectly helped. It is fair to say that 20 people are indirectly hurt if policies are followed that direct clients, who have a propensity to do drugs, to environments where the have one foot in the relapse statistic category as soon as they enter it.

I must also say this. Ultimately, it is the responsibility of an individual to abstain from substance abuse. No rehab center or organization can make a person stay off drugs. One has to make that commitment to oneself. It is easier for some to stay on that path of recovery with unwavering focus than it is for others.

I believe that unwavering ethical conduct on the part of organizations is very important when it comes to helping those that have a propensity to falter when temptation rears its ugly head. An organization may do 80 percent of its activities flawlessly. Unfortunately the 20percent that falls in the cracks, is ignored or a function or short sighted planning or misguided priorities can washout the work of that productive 80 percent.

Lets do something to reduce the chances of that happening. When I speak, I speak to myself as well. I no longer will give someone money for cigarettes because to me that is only financing a habit that keeps someone chained to a life that is without independence.

Independence Day for America is tomorrow. America fought its independence every step of the way. It took one hundred percent commitment, sacrifice and team work so that independence could be experienced by all. Please, let us all give some thought to a renewed commitment to discuss and hopefully discover insights that will formulate creative methods so that those, who are saddled with active alcohol and drug addiction, will be able to experience the independence in lifestyle--the concept upon which this country is based.

Have a happy 4th of July.

Wowjam.com Comes to Skid Row

2008-06-30T06:27:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday Afternoon, I walked into my building and everything on the street was real quiet. two hours later I walked out of my building, going to work, and the street was packed. There was a street party going on and I did not even hear it being set up. Needless to say, I was quite surprised.

Wowjam.com gave a street party for Skid Row.

As I understand it there philosophy is to put on events in desperate areas,complete with entertainment, food and prizes. This will show people that God loves them and the area will transform into one of peace and tranquility.

Everyone seemed to be having fun and they definitely enjoyed the food and prizes.
It was a nice surprise.

It was easy to identify the wowjam workers. They were very eager to please, extremely enthusiastic and delightfully polite.

I had to go to work so I could not participate. But next time....

Betrayal on Skid Row

2008-06-25T00:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes something must happen to help you regain your perspective. I experienced that kind of event tonight, on my way home from work.

I have been working hard, trying to find employment opportunities that will offer me better income. I have to admit that I enjoy my job, co workers and even the clients but I do want to save more money, get out of debt and move out of Skid Row.

I sent an acquaintance from my past a copy of my resume. I thought he might review it and then offer me a job or refer me to someone who may be hiring. He did neither.
He had his assistant review it, make some comments and send it back to me with a message "Good luck with my career". I felt I received the brush off. For a long time today I felt like I was damaged goods. I felt sorry for myself, not remembering that a year ago, at this time, I had nothing. I had no job. I slept in a shelter by court order and pretty much felt I had no future.

thought about all of that for a while. Within a short period of time a few people who live where I work came by to get their mail. Some are severely physically challenged. Others have tremendous health issues. I put things into perspective and was grateful that I had my health and that I was not using subsgtances and that my life had a bright future. It may take longer than in my youth to create opportunities but sooner or later something will happen. I must keep digging.

With regaining the proper attitude, I walked down the street with a coworker, escorting her home. We walked by many people who were homeless, sitting down on the sidewalk. Suddenly we came across a young man who was laying down on the sidewalk next to a building.

On the surface, it was no different than anybody else but I knew the story of this guy. Sure, he relapsed. That is not unusual but in my opinion he was betrayed by a program that is in Skid Row.

There are many programs on Skid Row and they purport to provide training and placement. Here is an example of what happens:

John was in a program. He started out in a shelter. The shelter then started an educational program. John entered the program. Keeping John in the facility an allowing John to go to an education program allows the umbrella non profit organization to receive more money. Upon graduation John was placed in employment.
They gave him what is known as a "Packaged Deal". They provide you with employment and housing. The housing happens to be owned by the very same non profit organization that owns the shelter and the educational program. It is also very expensive.

One of the prospective employers in the various "packaged deals" that are presented to the clients is known to hire people, treat them extremely unfairly, and do every thing they can to fire the employee before the probation period is over so the employer does not have to provide medical and other benefits. 95% of the people who are sent to the employer are terminated within 90 days.

The non profit organization that provides this program knows this. They know that it is highly unlikely that the client under their guidance and who trusts them to stir him/her in the right direction will survive longer than 60 days.

They could stir the client to different housing services that are much less expensive and provide the client with supportive services they need but they choose not to do that. For instance, the Marshall House costs seventy five percent less than the housing which is offered to the client. The client is also in an after care drug treatment facility where he can get support from other clients. A case manager is also assigned to the client.

However the client is not directed there. The client is directed to
one of two buildings for housing. Both buildings are owned by the non profit organization that is the umbrella for the educational arm. Both buildings are notorious in their reputation as drug environments. EVERY PERSON THAT THE PROGRAM HAS PLACED IN THOSE BUILDINGS AS RELAPSED. EVERY SINGLE ONE. Furthermore, the administrators know the buildings are de facto drug houses and they do nothing to clean them up.

They place them there because it looks good on the stats because it is defined as permanment housing. The Marshall House is defined as transitional housing. It may look good for the company but it is terrible for the client. The client is directed to permanent housing but they are, in reality, headed for permanent failure.

That is what happened to John. He relapsed because he was exposed to drugs all of the time.

It amazes me that a programm which is targeted to help the chronically homeless receive skills and employment, chooses to dump their clients in an environment where drugs run rampant. It is more important to look good in the stats, and fill their corporate coffers with rent payments than it is to make sure that their clients have a fighting chance.

I believe it is criminal. definitely immoral and it disgusts me.

Usually they would let a client go back into the shelter and receive more funding. However John was a client that required effort. John was the client that they were supposedly targeting to help. A difficult client, one trhat needed attention.
He was a problem that they were able to get rid of and they do not want him around so they told him he was not allowed to go back to the shelter. However, in 99 percent of the cases, they allow a client to return.

John will be sleeping again on the streets tonight. How the administrators of the program can sleep with a clear conscience is beyond me.

I forgot about my ambition and my frustration in not being able to obtain a job with a higher income. I felt good that, for now, I am at least helping people that need help. It is something about which I feel good.

I do have housing. I do have little comforts. I am in a much better position now than I was last year. I will steadily improve. However, There are people on the streets who have little chance of obtaining shelter. There are those who have little chance of receiving help. There are those that are 'receiving help" but in some cases they would be better off if the help given was not provided. It is because the help will lead them to a disastrous end even though the corporate stats look good for the organization that led them down the wrong path. this is quite common on Skid Row.

Chris Farley

2008-06-23T18:51:00.000-07:00

When I was in the human resources office, while being hired, the woman told me that the most valuable employees in the whole organization were the maintenance/janitorial crew. She did not elaborbate. I intuitively understood what she said. I had seen the maintenance crews throughout Skid
Row constantly on the move. They are timely. They are organized. They are efficient and they are fearless. They put their hands in trash bags every day and have no idea what they will encounter. And that is exactly what the lady said to me. Expect anything at anytime because the bathrooms are the most abused public areas. Feces could be on the floor, the walls or in the trash cans. Urine could be in cans or bottles. Blood could be anywhere, hidden beneath things as well as needles that could infect you at the moment of impact and penetration.

And yet these men and women are are loyal and dutiful. And amazingly they spend a great deal of their day boosting the morale of tenants, exhibiting so much patience when each tenant is suffering moments of doubt. Imagine, exercising that kind of patience with people all day long while having problems and doubts of your own.

Chris E. Farley was one of the Skid Row maintenance crew. He worked down here temporarily but the lessons he taught will last a lifetime. He was on temporary assignment by one of the staffing organizations in the area.

In Skid Row, many of the tenants are upset with their lives and complain about anything. Many of them suffer from mental illness and yell and scream at you. Others can not control their bodily functions and whereever they are at the moment is where they relieve themselves. The maintenance men and women are the first and only line of resoution of these problems. They must clean up again and again. It does not matter if they just cleaned up the bathroom. If someone drops urine in a bottle or feces in a bag, they must return and handle that unexpected yet constant contingency. They control the spread of disease while risking themselves simultaneously.

Chris spent ten years in prison. He came out and is so optimistic about life. I heard him talk to his mother and daughter everyday. He could not be there for his other children because he was away. He guides his daughter and gives her encouragement to study. There is no doubt that she will succeed. He instills that cofidence in her.

He reinforces that attitude in me. After responding repeatedly to urine in bottles in the trash, and defecation in the trash cans, and listening patiently to the tenants about their concerns, He has the time to listen to me. I ask him over and over the same questions, the doubt and insecurity pinned on my shoulders.

His teachings began to have an effect on me as did the teachings of the other custodicans with whom I had the good fortune of being the recipient of their endless selflessness and wisdom. Sometimes I would ask Chris things because I wanted to marvel at his positive attgitude. In him, was the embodiment of all of the teachings that others bestowed upon me. If he can survive ten years of prison, then I have it easy. If he can believe, then I can believe. I have learned so much from those who had to learn how to have patience behind bars. What they have drilled into me has proven to be true. Things do change. Be patient. Endure. Perservere.
Keep your head up.

These are the things that the Janitorial Crew teach on Skid Row. They are, by far,I am sure, the most efficient maintenance staff in all of the different sections of downtown. More is required of them than any other maintenance staff and they respond trememendously. They are also outstanding "Professors of Life", giving lectures every day, without financial compensation.

They lead by example. The principles that they espouse are practriced every day.
They want only that you to live by the same principles so that you can be healthy, and also by doing so, lead others. I have found that listening to them, watching them, and having faith in what they say has led me to have a new positive attitude in life. It did not come overnight and the janitorial crew worked very hard to make sure I maintained faith. Chris worked harder than most because he had to listen to me nightly after doing his hard chores and answering to the needs of the tenants where I work.

Thanks Chris for your optimistic spirit and Skid Row thanks everyone who is on the Janitorial/Maintenace crew in the neighborhood. You do alot more than what people know about.

Vernon E. Stone

2008-06-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

I came from a memorial this morning. I started not to go to it but I had no choice. It was as if Vernon's spirit drew me to it. The Memorial was to celebrate the life of Vernon E. Stone.

Vernon was the very first person that I met when I landed on Skid Row. After the administrator completed my intake information. I walked into the male dormitory athe Transition House on Crocker Street. Earlier that morning, on February 7, 2007, I was released from Los Angeles Country jail, having spent nearly four months in there for a misdeamenor. I was shocked at what I saw in Skid Row, and I was in a state of shock after 6 months in the twilight zone.

I walked into the men's dormitory and sat on my bunk, bed number 67. There were 100 beds in the dormitory. He walked in behind me, introduced himself and gave me a bunch of tobacco. He told me his name was Vernon Edward Stone. My father's name was Vernon and my uncle's name is Vernon Edward. There was something special in the way Vernon and I communicated.

He told me of his background. He was from Harlem, New York and started doing heroin at a very young age. When I met him, Vernon had been clean and sober for over a year. He had been in numerous programs and in and out of prison. He had two jobs and was saving money. He would not let me pay him back for tobacco or cigarettes.
"Walter, you can not afford to give me back anything right now. Keep the tobacco. Just make sure you help another brother out when he comes in here. Make sure that he feels welcomed. Show him the ropes. Each one teach one."

After about two weeks, I hardly saw Vernon. He had two jobs. Occasionally he would leave a bag of tobacco on my bed. When I came in, I knew who left it there.
When I did see him, he always made sure I did not need for anything.

Finally, one night, when the night monitor was making a bed count, it was announced that Vernon was moving. He had been accepted in the Ballyntine Apartments on Wall STreet as it is a facility for veterans. The monitor gave a speech about how Vernon was leaving the Transition House under his own terms. Indeed, he was. There was a round of applause for him.

We talked that night after the lights were out and he expressed his gratitude. He always expressed his gratitude. He was always upbeat. Finally he told me something that I would hear again and again. "Keep doing what you are doing Walter." Every time I heard that line. I would think of Vernon.

When he left, I recall, I felt that sinking feeling of being alone again. Tears came out and he told me he would always come back to see me. He did. Whenever he picked up his mail, he never left before he saw me. Never. He reminded me of my uncle who treated me the same way. They shared the same name, Vernon Edward.

After I moved out of the Transition House I saw him in there. He had returned. I did not ask him any questions. I could see that he did not want to talk about it.

He saw me every day. He was in the STRIVE program and he helped everyone in the program. He instilled confidence in those that had none just like he did for me when I had arrived on Skid Row. I would sit with those that were afraid of the computer and made them learn it. He was so good. Whenever I was blogging he made sure that people kept quiet in there so I could concentrate on what I was trying to say.

One day we talked and he told me he was proud of me. He knew better than anyone else how far I had come. He more than anyone laid the groundwork for my long climb. He gave me a few principles by which I have followed from my very first day on Skid
Row. I told him not to get down on himself--that he was a leader. Sometimes leaders take a fall. But leaders get back up. He taught me how to get back up.
He taught people how to stand up every day. We hugged and he started to climb that mountain again. He had plans. He graduated from the STRIVE program and on graduation day, he kept everyone laughing with his jokes. he thanked every teacher and praised everyh student.Many students credited Vernon for helping them learn what they felt they could never learn.

Many people are considered family at the Transition House. Many people relapse who stay there. People return and, sadly, some people die. Some people who were considered family at the Transition House have died since I arrived on Skid Row. Yet no one has had a huge memorial held for them there except Vernon Stone. That will tell you how much he was loved.

His death reminds you that Skid Row was a battlefield. Soldiers fall in battle. Vernon Stone was indeed a soldier and he fell. He won't get up this time. However he instilled many lessons in men and women and through them he lives on.

I walked slowly today from my weekly class. I walked through downtown and thought of Vernon Stone and the lessons he instilled in me.

I also realize that people downtown do not know of Vernon Stone. Yet Vernon Stone was the kind of person that represented the spirit of Downtown Los Angeles. He was a fighter. He was also the son of someone. He was also the husband of someone. He was also the beloved father of a little girl.

People talk about Skid Row. They talk about the policies of Skid Row. Committee members shuffle papers and budgets. Press releases are made. And yet no one really knows or sometimes cares about the lives of the people.

These people have lives. These people have dreams. They have the same concerns and hopes that everyone has. Vernon Stone had those dreams. He also told me to keep dreaming. I will miss you Vernon Stone. I will keep doing what I am doing. I will keep fighting.

I turned down a street and saw people smoking crack and shooting up heroin. I was back in the battlefield. "Walter, keep doing what you are doing. Ignore them", Vernon would say. I am Vernon. However, I cant ignore how I feel when I know they are hurting.

I love you Vernon Stone. Thank you for being you.

WAlter Melton aka Scribeskidrow

Officer Royce is leaving Skid Row

2008-06-18T17:35:00.000-07:00

LAPD Sargeant Kevin Royce will be leaving the Central Division and transfering to North Hollywood. Today is his last day.

Sargeant Royce was the point man for the Safer Cities Initiative however that does not adequately describe himself or his contribution to Skid Row.

I was fortunate enough to meet Kevin when I moved into the Marshall House.
Kevin took things personally. He wanted to make a difference. He did in my life.
He saw something in me and wanted to make sure that it had a chance. He went beyond the duties of his job and answered to the standards of fellowship and brotherhood.
He saw that I needed a friend and he gave me his friendship and loyalty. He introduced me to his family and invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family. Again, on Christmas, he invited me to spend it with his family. This time I was invited into his home.

Those were very special moments for me and those times spent with his family went a long way in providing me with the strength to keep fighting for a better quality of life. His wife Debbie kept encouraging me to keep writing my blog and baked me chocolate chip cookies on several occasions. I felt wanted. I felt like I belonged. I had forgotten how it felt to feel like I belonged. It carried me through some very tough times.

I believe that public servants like Officer Kevin Royce see the need to go beyond the scope of their duties to really bring about change. They see where the "human' factor is much ignored yet very much needed.

Skid Row will miss him. He is transfering to North Hollywood. They will get an outstanding officer and an outstanding man. Feel the spirit.

Good night world. I love you

PS. After I wrote this blog, there was a disturbance in the building where I work. I had to call the police. They came out immediately. They always do. And with volatile individuals, I never know what could potentially happen. It is my responsibility to protect the people where I work. After the police left, a sargeant came by to speak to me. She was making a "quality of service" inquiry.
I was impressed. She wanted to make sure that her officers were responding to the needs of the community. Frankly speaking, I don't know how the police officers and the paramedics from the fire department do it. I really don't. On Skid row where so much is going on, the response time of both departments has always been extraordinary. In the interest of fairness, I felt that had to be said. No one ever talks about that part of the LAPD or LAFD on Skid Row. It is amazing that they always show up quickly when they are called, no matter

Fathers DAy., patience, Enjoying the process

2008-06-17T05:31:00.000-07:00

The silent, steady pace of the fan is humming in the background like a brand new whisperjet. The room is peaceful. I have been working on it for several weeks now. The advances in achieving comfortability in the room seem to come when I have progressed, to some degree, in climbing to another internal plateau.

Almost two weeks ago, I stood at the foot of my mother's bed. She looked at me and asked me if I had grown some. It was not the question of a person who was suffering of dementia. On the surface it would appear that way. It was a statement of perception, of her perspective of me. Immediately I knew that to be the case.

I looked into the mirror and, of course, I had not grown, physically, but at the same time I felt an increase in my overall stature and presence. Yes, I had grown a great deal. I took a second to absorb the distance that I had come and quitely envisioned where I was going and the path that would enable me to achieve even more growth.

While standing there, I saw a picture of my father stuck in the mirror. My father and mother were divorced two decades ago and just the mention of my father would induce a sudden anger in my mother. For years, I would fight with my mother when she would try and say negative things about him. It was difficult. I may have seemed callous to her. I knew she needed to get her anger out but he was my father and I could not stand to let her vent about him with me.

Seeing my father's picture in the mirror was symbolic of the peace that she had attained before this adventure started. After years of struggling, we both conquered some demons. We both conquered our respected demons in our own separate efforts. It was not until late in the process that we began to see what eachother was doing and made our adjustments to facilitate the successful completion of the process for eachother. We became less selfish. We learned about eachother while we learning about ourselves.

I do not know if the picture was put on the mirror by my sister as I did not ask anyone. The clear fact that it remained was indicative of so many things. When I started discarding things in the house, just like I have been doing here, my goal was to make the house a home. My sister took up where I left off and has done an amazing job of refurbishing the house and redecorating it. it is a warm and refreshing environment. My sister's accomplishment indeed was the completion of what I started. She was able to turn an unhealthy house, into a very pleasant healthy home. What she had done far exceeded anything I could have come close in doing.

The picture of my father was the final touch as it may me feel that the family was back together again and in many ways it was. In the most abstract of ways, we were close, healing and growing as a unit.

I think of my father every day but that picture stayed in my heart and walked with me every day for the past 10 days. I am in a development mode and my father made sure that I experienced a balanced development process. I grew to be well rounded and was exposed to many, different aspects of life. They were as diverse and varied as they were plentiful. He and my mother encouraged me to see and do as much as I could.

My growth in many ways has not been balanced over the last few months. There were certain realities that did not facilitate balanced growth. I had to concentrate every waking moment on securing employment. Once that was done I had to begin the process of climbing to the next plateau and, for me, that meant doing everything I could do to search for another job. That meant I had to develop an information management system as well as an effective communication system, given my constraints.

I was growing but I was not managing my growth very well. I recognized the need for adjustment but was not ready to adjust quickly upon recognizing the need to do so. I had to clear away more baggage; whatever was instilled at whatever level that was preventing sustained mangagement at each incremental level of growth.

Each time I would make an adjustment to operate efficiently, I would revert back to a certain level of clutter and inefficiency. I did not lose all of my progress. However, whatever internal system failures that were in me had to be fixed in order for me to progress. Mental clutter had to be eradicated in order to clear out the debris physically. Increased level of discipline in work habits had to be achieved in order to manifest a sustained fluidity in operations in order to develop a pleasant and smooth environment for consistent development and continued, balanced growth.

I made the appropriate acquisitions. I bought push up bars for fitness. I bought the blender for healthy consumption of fruit drinks. I boughgt a fan for comfort in the increasing heat. I could not use them consistently because my self management skills were not solidified enough.

I kept working on it, focusing in at every level but I kept pushing. Two steps forward, one step back. Three steps forward and one step back.

I obtained the computer. It enabled me to access more information, explore and access more people. I could communicate with people from my past with whom I lost touch. I could investigate new interests. All of this was in the growth process but I felt something was wrong. I was not capable of responding immediately to opportunities. I thought something was wrong.

I realized that I could not progress in pursuit of opportunities until progressed across the board. Subconsciously there was a need for that. And my behavior was gravitating to it slowly in my own way. It was natural to experience an information overload when I obtained this new tool. however my interests were scattered and it was reflected in the diversity of my bookmarked pages. No partitioning. No folders. No management.

I joined a couple of networking groups. That took time to see what worked and what different, especially with the constant inflow of information.

There was some concern that my blogging was not as consistent as it had been but I could not force it. I spoke to a literary agent and he told me. "Work slowly and carefully. Good writing can not be rushed."

And that is the key to everything. Work methodically and carefully on every front.

I went to MacArthur Park and it was a natural progression of my unconsious pursuit of balance. The first time I did something different as I remember was going to Echo Park when I was six years old. I sent off for some fishing equipment after seeing a coupon in a box of cereal. We went fishing there. It was my first time at the lake and it was a whole new world. I even caught a fish. Actually the fish caught me. The hook was not in the mouth of the fish. It was in the side of its body. Apparently the fish swam by and the hook somehow was got embedded in its body.
Better to have luck than skill.

I remembered that trip when I saw my father's picture on the wall at the house.
I also remembered all of my friends, or and new and what they have taught me over the years. They all had one thing in common. They all had great management systems.
They were methodical, consistent and steady in their approach to life. Their work habits were exemplary and their work ethic to perfect their work habits was an example of sustained focus and were on a standard of their own.

At some point I realized that it was not only ok to take my time. It was paramount.
I had to gain equilibrium and balance in all areas. Otherwise I would be in a state of anomie and in that state one area of phenomenal development is not complimented by an equal level of development in other areas. When that occurs a recipe for disaster is born.

There is no need to rush out like a jack rabbit and obtain information for opportunities if I can not store it, retrieve it and respond to it with dispatch. It just presents chaoes and feelings of inadequacy.

Developming slowly and carefully is the trick. I have found that I have developed certain traits slowly and thoroughly and only now am I able to integrate them to maximum potential in a product system. In developing each skill, talent or behavior it to the best of my ability it lends itself to a greater chance to discover creative, innovative ways to improve and improvise--creating greater economics of scale.

Researching out to friends, resolving issues--stopping the jack rabbit rush to success was vital. I am started out slowly and I am developing my stride naturally, concentrating on the basics. In time the stride lengthens naturally and greater productivity and the rate of increase in productivity occur without effort.

An athlete performs best when his actions are effortless and he is relaxed.

That is what I have learned to concentrate on and the process is fun in and of itself. There are times when I learn. There are times when I experience growth. There are times when I experience a perception and self perception shift. However it comes from concentrating on the process and not trying to jack rabbit towards success.

As a father told me earlier today, "When you get there Walter, your arrival will be on a strong foundation on each and every layer. You will have balance and will not sink in your own quicksand in your haste to get somewhere."

I have endeavored to concentrate on the things that I have heard throughout the years.

"just imagine or envision yourself being there and you will gravitate to that goal naturally." Tha is what is occuring. Where there is no balance, my internal system directs me to concentrate on the areas where there is a deficit in development, vis a vis other relevant categories.

Too much job searching, not enough filing. Too much pushing forward not enough timely efficient follow through. 70% overall approval, not 95%. You want to get out of the area explore out of the area. Do something different.
You miss your friends, contact them. Everything can be accomplished. How bad do you want it. I ask myself these questions everyday.

I am a senior in the Skid Row curriculum. The more I concentrate on my all around development, the faster I will integrate and create an opportunity. Being a senior, I tell others now the things that I learned that have carried me through. Some of these things I learned and accepted grudgingly but they are now a part of my character--Focus and patience.Without those, one will not achieve. While in Skid Row, the highest degrees of both are required. I tell sharp young women not to sell drugs for men hiding in the dark. "You are smarter than you think. You have no idea how smart you are. Don't risk your life to please others." I like my role. I relish it. I learn more from it as I discover more in this process of achievement.

I think all of the fathers for teaching me: every father that I have known. I have not lost sight of the contribution of mothers. But this was FAther's Day weekend
and the words of many fathers have echoed daily in my soul for a long time. Their efforts are now yielding fruit.

That boat trip I took marked another end

MacArthur Park-Wilshire Blvd, , Pedal Boating

2008-06-14T22:28:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I went pedal boating in MacArthur Park on Wilshire Blvd at Alvarado. It was the first time in my life I had ever gone pedal boating. I used to see them in the movies, most of the time the setting was in europe. IT looked like fun so I decided to check it out.

In addition to the boat ride and much more pleasant scenary, I was able to go shopping at the 99Cents Only Store, purchasing several bottles of juice at one third the price of comparable bottles in Skid Row.

The outing was a new step for me. It was the first time I went out on my own. People had to drag me, practically,to events out of the area a few months ago. AT that time I was stuck in feeling that life was hopeless. I did not want to reach for anything because I feared I would not be able to grab onto it. Or once I tasted something that was fun, I would never be able to taste it again. It was that fear that I told you about in a previous post. One has to work out of things like that. I enjoyed time by myself. It was another step in learning how to enjoy life and believing that there was so much to enjoy if I just believed that it could happen.

Some people do not want to do things alone. That is an excuse to remaining in a rut. The excuses are subtle but power in that the end result is that you do not move forward and one lets life pass them by.

So it was a victory for living and for pursuing new experiences. I will be back again.

DLANC Election Day

2008-06-12T19:42:00.000-07:00

T

Today was election day for DLANC (Downtown Los Angeles Neighborhood Council. Voting for the next term of board members was to begin at 2:00PM today.

I arrived at the Los Angeles Theater, the voting location at 1:45PM, figuring that I would be one of the few who would be there early so I could vote quickly and leave.
I was wrong. There was a long line of voters waiting patiently for the doors to open so they could cast their ballots.

Voters from all sections of Downtown were there: from Chinatown to South Park, from Little Tokyo to Skid Row. Skid Row residents and workers of the community turned out in large numbers to participate in the elections. It was good to see members of the Skid Row community getting involved in the process and having a voice in how their community will be run.

At the top is General Jeff who ran for Resident Director-Central City East.
Below him is Mr Gilbert. Mr Gilbert is the Life Skills Instructor for the STRIVE program that is operating in Skid Row. Many graduates of that program are grateful to Mr Gilbert for helping them identify negative behavior patterns and decision making processes so that they can avoid pitfalls to progressing in life in the future.

It was good to see the downtown community come out in large numbers in the elections.
I hope that the community will continue to become more involved in the development of a community spirit.

Friendship--Cost of Using Cocaine

2008-06-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

This morning I was struggling to discover a way to make progress in my life. Now that I have managed to stack up a few victories, I want more.

I started out the morning vascillating and frustrated because there were no interesting postings in Craigslist, the online advertizing website where one can seek employment. Afterwards I turned to Monster.com.

I decided to call my friend Jose. I had not spoken with him and someone wanted to know if he was going to be able to speak with Jose about Skid Row topics. Jose handles Safer City Initiative for the City Attorney's office.

Friendship in general has been on my mind ever since I read a quote about it in Stephen Carter's book, The Emperor of Ocean Park. In Particular, as each day goes by, I marvel at the show of frienship and TRUST that was displayed by such an unbelievable gift as my computer that was given to me by Jose and his wife.

Truly amazing. I remember telling Jose for weeks, when I met him, that friendship was most important to me. He thought my drive to get to know him was because of his job and the things that he could do to help me. It wasn't until months later that Jose called me one day and said. "I finally have figured it out."

I sat there waiting to hear what this discoveryh was with baited breath.
"The most important thing to you is our friendhship." My mouth dropped.
"You mean you are finally getting it". I said.
Friendship was the one thing I missed while I was doing drugs. Friendship was the one thing that I consciously was aware that I was destroying when I did drugs. My friendships and my reputation with my school mates from Harvard School.

I always said that this blog was going to be honest. Without it there was no benefit to me or to others. I also recall stating that I would continue to share, with painful honesty, certain realities of my drug experiences, and or consequences as I become more aware of them and their costs as well as more comfortable in bearing myself naked in front of the world. It is indeed a growing process.

While I was talking to Jose, I received an email from Doug. Doug went to high school with me. He graduated a couple of classes ahead of me. In fact, he was in Mark Harmon's class. I had emailed Doug, on Friday, and told him that I wanted to speak to him substantively. He replied to me this morning.

While sitting on my bed, staring at the computer screen, while talking to my friend Jose, about the beauty of friendship, I received an email alert that Doug had just emailed me. I read it while I talked with Jose.

"Walter, while I would love to speak with you substantively, I can not in good conscious until you pay John. I believe the sum is $200. Let me know...."

I trust that Doug would not object that I am sharing this with people.

Here is where the honesthy begins. First of all, I do not owe John. I owe Loyd. Loyd was my doubles partner on the Championship tennnis team. I owe Loyd $2,000, not $200.

I found out from Doug that John does not want me to have his email addresss. John is asking Loyd to see if Loyd will allow John to give me his email address.
I have tried to email Loyd but I do not know if I had the right address.

It hurt that John does not want to hear from me. As I said earlier, John had a tremendous influence on my life.

However, I violated a trust. I did not violate a trust with John, but one of our teammates. One thing I am learning is that it may not matter to someone if I was under the influence of drugs. It may not matter that I love them very much.
They have their own reasons for disassociating themselves with me.

I emailed another friend as a result of today's events. It was
Andy. I owed him 300 dollars from decades ago. Andy was in the same class with John and Loyd. I realized over the years that I violated a trust but I kept getting high to run away from the guilt.

Facing this, all of this is something that I have wanted to do for years. It is similar to throwing away debris. It is just as debilitating as old clothes that remind one of the past. Certain things hinder your forward movement because they are logged in your soul. Indeed, I was wearing this situation of past guilt and now I do not have to look at it as things to be done and have it continue to eat at me, knowing that I have to put it behind me in order to move forward. I hope my friends can move forward in a different way as well, though I realize that I may not have their friendship in the future.

I feel a special loss as well. These friendships were made and explored at a time when social upheavel was all over America. We were the first generation of kids who were able to explore our friendships even thought we were from different backgrounds. They were pioneer relationships, relationships that were not based on people sitting next to each other.

We did not just interface with eachother. We integrated our lives with eachother. We explored our dreams and as others did we questioned many things.
I feel that we had an opportunityh to explore the very uniqueness of those relationships and how special they were because we were indeed pioneers on a mass scale. However, I may have lost the opportunity to dialogue with them about it because of the breach of trust that created from my behavior. Indeed, I breached a trust with myself as well.

Our relationships were complexed. We dealt with complex issues. We dealt with issues with which our parents could not help us, for they were not given the opportunity to explore what we could because of the times in which they grew up. They knew that but they let us have the latitude to do what social pressures would not allow them to do.

Many people fall to the way side when faced with trying to make amends to friends.
The bad news is that some friends do not want to hear from me. The good news is that I am facing it now, not later. However, just because they may not want my friendship, the fact is, our relationship continues. I know that. My relationship with Loyd lives on because we were joined at the hip as doubles partners. Each relationship has its own life ingredients.

Just like we had to go on when Robert Kennedy and others died, I must go on. Perhaps I will not be able to regain what I had. Perhaps they were always limitied because of the complexity of class as it relates to relationships in society. Those questions,unfortunately, we do not have the luxury to explore.

I will tell you why I mentioned class. When I was at Harvard School, white guys would never say anything negative to me about blacks. However, there were times when they would come up to me and say something negative about other whites who were not from their social ilk but were at the school. I thought about it and it told me something. At that point in time, I was view in some cases more as an equal than some of their fellow white students. So at one point, however they perceived my class statused trumped my racial category. I noticed it immediately. I always wanted to discuss that type of thing with my classmates and team mates because one of the people that I mentioned looked down his nose at a white student one because his father earned money in such a way that dirt was under his fingernails every day.

I felt when we got older we could be honest about things because we would have known eachother for so long. No one would react because they probably have had the same questions of me for decades. We were a small family and over years members of families, learn how to be honest with themselves and eachother.

I believe that I not only cost us an opportunity to learn but, as a result, society has lost an opportunity to gain insight from pioneers who were at a special place, at a special time, a time when people were beginning to experience a new frontier of social interaction.

That is the cost of using cocaine. Their is a tremendous opportunity cost that extends far beyond the obvious. For instance, people can stiff arm you from being in their lives. Is it because of the breach of trust or is it also that they realize that they must face things in themselves that can be avoided if they do not have to do with you? So we all lose by a breach of trust. Many things become easily deflected.

Instead of sinking deeper in despair. I must continue to take the high road. I and others had to continue when Kennedy was shot and yet it was his principles and lessons that lived on and helped me save my life.

Some of my classmates may not want my friendship. However, the lessons I learned from them in school and the courage they displayed in many ways are the very leadership by example that helped me save my life. I will continue to live a life of integrity and am grateful that they helped me save my life.

The use of cocaine cost me so much. It cost them so much. It cost us so much. It cost us more than we all will ever know.

Remembering Robert Kennedy

2008-06-05T22:46:00.000-07:00

June 5 will always be a day that I remember. It started out the same way as all of the other days that week. I put on my military uniform and we headed for Harvard School. Before we left, I organized some campaign material as my mother needed packets made. She was on the Kennedy Campaign committee.

Robert Kennedy wrote my mother a personal letter 5 days before his death. I found that letter in 2006 and cried.

We came home and my mother was already at the Ambassador Hotel. That was her daily stop after work. She loved going there and every election my father and she worked feverishly to aid their chosen candidate. I can remember handing out pamphlets all over the neighborhood as early as John Kennedy's campaign and playing at the Los Angeles Sports Arena during the Democratic National convention in 59 I think it was.

My mother came home in tears and I, of course found out what happened. I was angry. Martin KIng had just been shot and John Kennedy had been shot years before. Let us not forget Medgar Evers and others.

That was my last campaign. It was awkward for me to see others feversishly campaigning for Nixon later that year. He won the election and HR Haldeman was in the white has as his Chief of STaff. HR Haldeman was an alumnus of my school and his son was in the class ahead of me. He withdrew from the school and moved to Washington DC. I was confused on what to feel.

When I stop consuming substances, I wrote alot of Bobby Kennedy. I studied him greatly. Something inside me started to live again. I wanted to campaign again. I remembered meeting his son Robert Junior at Harvard. A week later , after I remembered meeting his son, a friend called me and told me that my picture was in a new University of Pennsylvania publication. It was a Photo history of the school.
I was on page 110. He sent me a copy. Robert Kennedy was on page 109. The picture of me was taken in 1972 when I was visiting Penn. Penn was recruiting me to play tennis. I went to Harvard afterwards and I met RFK jr. on that trip. I came back down to Penn , after leaving him and the picture was taken. I had on the same clothes that I was wearing when I met him. And there I was standing there, on the page after the picture of his father. I was very proud. Amazing that that could happen. The picture of his father had been taken in 66 on a trip to the campus.

It was a fluke that my friend found that photo book at the Penn book store and found my picture. But maybe it was not a fluke. They say God works in mysterious ways.

He sent me that book in 2006. I found the letter Robert Kennedy sent to my mother in 2006 around this time of the year. It was a month later when my world would collapse.But I kept thinking about how Albert Camus changed Robert Kennedy's philopsophy on the death penalty. He was against the death penalty even though his brother had been murdered. That issue was never something about which I wondered until my grandmother was murdered. It is funny how every thing changes. Views change or are challenged when tragic events touch ho

The Kennedy philosophy was to maintain the high road, no matter what. and that is exactly what I did when I landed on Skid Row. I kept remembering what I read about RFK jr and how he gave his word that he would never do heroin again when his wife confronted him about the matter. He kept that promise.

RFK Jr was a role model for me. If he could do it. I could do it. When I stopped I never touched it again. I wanted to enjoy my sobriety. I looked forward to it.
I was arrested, not once, but twice and languished in a jail dormitory the second time for some time until my case, a misdeamenor was settled.

I noticed that my voice and my hands had healed. those were the two ways I could enjoy my sobriety. I could not train in the swimming pool, or ride my bike or run on a track. For months I wondered what it would feel like to do those activities.
After all, triathlon training is the vehicle I used to retire from substance abuse.

I have yet to find out what it is like to train and not use substances afterwards. I will find out soon.

It was not difficult to keep my promise about never using drugs again. I did have some difficulty in finding the beauty of being clean and sober while living in a court ordered shelter on Skid Row. Much difficulty.

I had to just be thankful that I was no longer doing it. I had to maintain integrity even when things were bad. I could not look for an excuse because being sober was not convenient. I maintain my self integrity and that feeling of integrity grew and I practiced the lifestyle of self integrity every day. I thought of the things my parents taught me and the values they instilled in me. I thought of men like Martin Luther King, John Kennedy, and Robert.

I thought of how important it was to stay on the high road when the low road had its gates open for one to explore and lead oneself into oblivion. Fortunately the teachings of my parents and the examples of the above mentioned men kept me on the high road no matter how painful life was and how limited my enjoyment.

I have seen two or three men this week who were with me at the Transition House last year. They have not progressed and are back on the streets homeless. It hurts to see that but I was told once by a friend of mine, Mark Harmon, while we were discussing the suicide of one of our mutual friends. Mark, forever the leader, said to me," Walter, it is our responisibility and obligation to go on and keep going".

Poignant words at a time when I still grieve the deaths of those men and others. I may not be with them physically but I am enjoying, finally in my life, living by the principles and standards that they set for a person to challenge themselves and practice, every day, love for self and love for your fellow man.

These are the principles that eluded me when I was doing drugs.

So I write about Robert Kennedy again. This time I am not beginning my journey of purity. I am not fighting to maintain the course. I am walking the walk with warmth inside of my soul with the excitement that I will learn more about self improvement and the enjoyment of it.

Robert Kennedy meant alot to my mother. He meant and means a lot to me. It took me a whole week to write this. I needed time to think and understand many things.

It is Sunday morning and, again, I am on my way to see my mother. I am proud of myself.

My mother told me in the darkness of the living room, "Walter, you have matured right in front of my eyes."

Even though I had to face some challenges, I stayed on the high road and fortunately I earned the right to taste a little of what it feels like to perservere and maintain the course through times of big storms. They did it. I learned from the expamples of these men and my mother and father who as Mark Harmon said, kept going when there was no other choice.

From the work, I am now celebrating his life and showing it every day. I am coming back alive and search for ways to be of service to my fellow man and to this country.
Something that died in me, that prevented me doing any more campaigning is alive again. That was a big part of my family purpose, to make sure people voted.

I can not vote now. However, principles should not be exercised only when it is convenient and comfortable. I must do what I can until the time comes when I can vote again. My father, rest in peace, would expect that and I trust that he is smiling down upon me, knowing that his son is back.

I did not do it by myself. As Robert Kennedy said, and I have said many times,
it was because of "the awful grace of God."

It is time for me to get ready to see my mother. I have more to say when I come back as I am changing and this Skid Row experience is the reason for the change. But for now. It is time for me to enjoy my mother. God bless everyone.

Good morning , world, I love you.

Fear in Skid Row

2008-06-04T01:53:00.000-07:00

It is almost two in the morning. It is quiet, so quiet. I love it when it is like this. I can hear myself think much better. The noise in Skid Row is so loud it deafens one's ability to hear one self, to feel oneself. Sometimes I think it is a mass conspiracy by everyone as most people in Skid Row runaway from themselves and everything else in this world.

"A lot of people do not want to be found", is a statement that you hear quite often when there is a discussion about the homeless and assisting the police or family members in the successful end to a long search for a loved one.

It is only tonight that I realized that that comment about not wanting to be found could mean more than one thing. Perhaps, indeed, people do not want to find themselves. The process would include too much pain.

Each night I check to see how many people read my blog. Tonight is one of those nights when I pray that my blog is read. Why? Because it will provide some insight into the pain that people go through in the Skid Row world.

You see, everyone in Skid Row views this place as a prison. There is the Skid Row world and the outside world. Things are done differently in the Skid Row world.

I asked Maria about the people that she has met on Skid Row. She has worked on Skid Row for nine months. She tells me that the people on
Skid Row are afraid to leave it. They are afraid that they will not be able to adjust to the outside world. That is why they refuse help from social workers.

For instance, I was talking to Andrew Conner. He runs the SOS program for PATH, People Assisting The Homeless program at the Central Division of the Los Angeles Police Department. When a homeless person gets arrested for drug use, he offers them a choice. They can opt for treatment and get shelter or they can go to jail, maybe even prison and then eventually return to the streets and continue in their homeless plight. Most decline the assistance and resist vigorously.

The popular belief is that They are afraid to begin hoping again. They have resigned themselves to the fact that their lives will not change. Their world is what it is. To begin to want again, to dream again, to hope again would not be too much in and of itself. However, it would be too much if they were made to hope and had no one to hold their hand to assist them through the process.

I know how they feel. I was not worried about relapsing. I was worried about giving up hope. If I gave up hope, then I would let the fear of reaching out overtake me like it has taken over and controls most of the people of Skid Row.

They do not want to reach out. They know that they will not survive it if they were let down and go over the edge. I see it every day. You see most of these people become Skid Row institutionalized. It is a special type of institutionalization because it is so hard to identify. There are so many layers of interwining complexities that impact on the psyche of an individual down here. So much is taken away from a man and woman in terms of them believing that they have a say in how they take care of themselves. It is now different from prison. Indeed, it is a prison. Most people have resigned themselves to believe that they will stay in prison and not know what the outside world is like any longer. They do not want to grab for it. If the dont reach it they fill they will lose their sanity and not even be able to exist in this prison. They will implode mentally. That is the fear that takes place and thrives on Skid Row.