I was working at Ralph’s grocery store near the corner of Century
Ave and Crenshaw Blvd at the time. My Mother
would not let me go to work because she feared that looters would enter the
store and there would be dangerous upheaval.
When I called my Manager, a white male, to let him know that I wouldn’t
be in to work I asked him if he planned on closing the store, he said no the
store would remain open because he did not see any threat. Sure enough, just a couple of hours after my
call the store had been taken over by looters.
One of my co-workers informed me that the Manager was the first person
to run upstairs and out of harm’s way, alone.
Wait a minute? I thought the Captain was supposed to go down with the
ship? Not this one, he left every man and woman to fend for themselves. Thank God for my Mother’s intuition.
I also remember driving through the streets of Los Angeles
they day after the city had been set ablaze.
Many of the stores that I shopped at and eatery’s that I frequented were
literally up in smoke. I remember we
could actually feel the heat from the smoldering brick and mortar. It is something I never imagined I would
experience in my lifetime.
Though I fully understood the cause of the civil unrest, I
never understood why we destroyed our own neighborhood. The logic behind that has never made sense to
me. We were mad at “The Man”, but we
took it out on ourselves. Really? How is that ok?
We couldn’t do routine business in our own neighborhood for
a while. I remember driving to Long
Beach, just to go to the grocery store.
I also remember smelling a stench of racism in the air. The beating of Reginald Denny seemed to remind White people that African American people are dangerous animals who should be
feared and not trusted. Our actions
proved us fit for the part that we had been cast.
Though I do not live in Los Angeles anymore, the city will
always be home to me. It is where I was
born and raised, where I spent most of my life.
I love L.A. and I have no shame telling people where I hail from. In fact, when people from other parts of the
country ask me where exactly in Los Angeles am I from, I answer their question
with a question, “Are you familiar with the intersection of Florence and
Normandie?” They usually respond, “Oh where the L.A. Riots started or where Reginald
Denny was beaten?” Absolutely correct. That infamous
intersection in Los Angeles will always be home to me.
Post a comment to share your memories of the L.A. Riots of 1992?
Post a comment to share your memories of the L.A. Riots of 1992?
