Tribute to 911

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.
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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.
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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.