Civil Unrest

I remember exactly what I was doing twenty years ago today. It was a Wednesday. I had spent the day grading papers. I was teaching Freshman Writing at the University of Southern California, and we did this group grading thing to help ensure that grading across the sections was equitable. Our group finished at about 3:45. I needed to have a prescription filled, so I went to the student health center where I overheard two African American women saying that they couldn't believe they had gotten off. Even with no context, I knew exactly what they were talking about. Anyone in Los Angeles would have. We had all been thinking about it. Waiting. Expecting the opposite.

I took the shuttle back to my dorm in downtown. LA's downtown at that time was mostly a place where no one lived. There were very few places to eat. Almost none were open for dinner. When the business people went home, the sidewalks rolled up. It didn't matter to me; that was one of the nights the dorm served dinner. (It was an unusual graduate student living experiment; communal dinner was only served a few nights a week.) I ate and went back to my room to calculate final grades that were supposed to be turned in before Friday. It was warm in my room. I opened the window. Weird...I smelled smoke.

Later I noticed I had a message. My sister: "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Call me." I called the dude (we had been dating for just about three months and he lived two floors up). He didn't know anything. I went to my next door neighbor, who had a television. The city was on fire. At least that explained the smoke.

Thursday was another bright and sunny day in Los Angeles. Classes were over, and so a group of people who lived in the dorm went out for lunch. We went to Hamburger Hamlet. Normally it would have been a huge wait behind long lines of businessmen. That day, we were seated right away. We lingered over lunch. Finally, the manager came over, "When you leave, we're closing and sending everyone home." We could take a hint; we left. On the walk back to our dorm we noticed handwritten signs in all kinds of businesses. Places were closing early. I was on the phone with my parents when I noticed the Lady Footlocker next door being looted. That night, no dorm dinner. Fortunately for us, The Pantry has never closed. (Not even for the unrest.) A few friends called me and offered to come take me away from downtown. But in the end, the places they lived (Santa Monica and Pasadena) would not escape unscathed. That night the rioting continued.

On Friday, Rodney King asked if we could all get along. Those of us who remained--loads of people had gone home--were in lock down. USC's administration sent food for us. And the R.As had a series of movies for entertainment (which is why I will always associate When Harry Met Sally with the riots). USC put forth a policy for the outlying dorms: they told us to pack a bag and be prepared to evacuate to campus. Those of you who know USC will perhaps find that counterintuitive, bringing us into South Central for the emergency. But USC had (has?) the only riot trained campus police in the country.  More security officers who were licensed to carry were sent to our dorm. On Friday night, I moved to the dude's room because my room faced the street. I remember listening to the helicopters and asking if he thought this was what it was like to be in a war. (Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit overwrought.)

On Saturday, the Marines came. The President had promised a federal investigation. There was a Peace Rally. It was strange, but you could feel that there was a change in the air, and to me, it seemed not to come from the Marines or the President, but from the Angelenos themselves. On Sunday people started cleaning up. It wasn't over, but it was.

Twenty years ago today.

L.A. Stories

As you know, the dude and I lived in Los Angeles proper from 1991 until we moved to southeastern PA in February of 2005. Lately, our thoughts have been with our friends who stayed. We watched a couple of hours of CNN's coverage of the fires-this-time on Sunday.

When you think about it, it's a wonder we lasted in Los Angeles that long. 1991-1992 was the first time, in oh thirty years or so, that the University of Southern California closed.

In October, there were serious ash-floating-downtown fires somewhere. I can't remember where and google isn't helping because that was the year Alameda burned. Also, "fires Los Angeles 1992" takes you to one thing, but we'll get to that in a moment. I may be conflating this with the massive Topanga-Malibu fires in 1993. But I can confirm that winter storms in February of 1992--it rained for at least two weeks straight, and I mean two.weeks.straight--caused serious flooding. (I know because the dude got wicked strep throat, and I had to carry him to the student health center in the pouring rain.) In April, we had a little tiddler of an earthquake in Joshua Tree. We have some funny stories associated with this one. Then, when I was grading my students finals, I smelled a little smoke and spent the next three days hiding out in the dorm protected by the only riot-trained campus police in America. (At least that's what they said. I believe they were riot trained--think Watts--but I don't know if they were the only ones.) A couple of weeks later, the day before I was leaving for vacation in New Hampshire, the Landers Quake hit. I was hiding under my desk and counting because that scared the fuck out of me. (For some reason, counting during earthquakes sort of calms me down. Yeah, I wish I didn't know that either.)

And yet, I came back from my vacation in New Hampshire. And not only because I had spent six weeks with my parents. And not only because the dude was so frickin' good looking.

It's a lot of disaster, and I would forgive you for doubting me. But here's more evidence: the California Board of Equalization's (Orwellian-speak for tax board) list of governor-proclaimed disasters. Read from the bottom up. You'll see that '93 and '94 weren't much better.

And still, I have a soft spot for that place.