Inner City Angels
a story from the L.A. riot-April 29, 1992
by
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NO MATCH
“Hey, Joe. Yo! Hold it! Stop it! Yo!”
The slim but out of shape woman looked ridiculous running after the thirteen year old kid who was racing at the top of his form across the playground of the inner city school.
Joe saw Annabel smile as he turned around to look at her running up the slope after him. She was his school shrink. He used one hand to brace his leap into the Santa Monica Freeway, Normandie onramp-- known to everyone as the most dangerous onramp on the “10”. Annabel saw Joe turn around to look at her. She knew what he was thinking:
“In the words of all the shrinks that are after me, I am bilingual. Some deal. All they do is ask me all day long to ‘say it in English’ or ‘say it in Spanish.’ Translatin’ every minute for all them gringas. No pay either. Some deal. Sorry I am huffing and puffing right now.
A driver was moving his semi down the “10”, goin’ eastward from
Joe barreled over the center divider, using the hand again as his lever. He turned his head to see if the dumb shrink was still watching him. She was. So he ran onto the path of the trucker.
Inside the cab, the driver leaned back with his arms straight out in front of him , grabbing the wheel like a wrench grabs a bolt.
Annabel saw it. She knew that the guy had seen the kid. Stiff armed.
“What the hell ,” was the shout. So loud they could hear it at the gas station on Normandie and Washington.
The driver put the pedal to the metal, leaning back, brakes screeching, wheels skidding, temper burning. Annabel saw the truck get so close to the kid that he could have eaten a meal off the wheel.
Swinburne pointed to the shirt pockets. Joe reversed them. No twenty. “ Suspended for a week. Take him home, Annabel. Tell his father he’s suspended until I see the twenty. No twenty. No bussing. No school. “
Annabel negotiated. “Maybe I can get his father to come in here and talk to you.”
“No twenty. No school. Out.”
Joe smiled a big one.
Annabel didn’t miss it.
Neither did Swinburne.
January, 1992
Joe Thinks:
So, here I am – a twelve year old kid in a class of “Specials” getting caught for just crossing a street, just because da street happened to be da 10 Freeway ! Just because it crossed right through LA , my town.
Gettin’ accused of bankin’ a twenty from da cafeteria.
Gettin’ my pockets turned.
Gettin’ expelled by Swinburne, da Vice Principal.
What da hell does Swinburne know about needin’ a twenty?
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About the Book
Jose Lopez runs beer for his pimping father, watches girls learn the oldest profession, and gets cuffed on the head when he can’t steal a twenty dollar bill.
He lands in Special Education, where learns to “jump” the three times table while standing on one foot. He multiplies the sixes, sevens, and eights, while trying to get himself into the local gang.
He receives an award for cleaning the grafitti off a wall on
The Mayor asks him why he had his gang clean. He says, “Mayor, I hate a dirty city.”
His psychologist praises him, his truck driver teaches him how to work, and his father continues to cuff .
Inner City Angels is Joe’s riot story .
About the Author
The author was a school psychologist in the Division of Special Education, LAUSD,working in an inner city school with “angels”in wheelchairs, “angels”in walkers, Downs Syndrome “angels” and emotionally disturbed “angels”.
On
Dr. Marcia Baltimore (Cohen} is currently retired and writing under her grandmother’s maiden name as a tribute to the
Both of her children call her Dr. Ma.