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‘92 RIOTS
by
Jacob Arlington Vance

April 29, Man, this is the first time I’ve been able to get the business community and educational staff together for some serious negotiations for the neighborhood’s future. Being the principal of James Madison Adult School is a thankless job at best. The white people of the business community are afraid to attend meetings in South Central after dark, the neighbors lock themselves in their security-grilled homes and don’t come out until the next day. Myself, I’m here because I want to be here. I grew up here, graduated from local schools, left to seek a better life, see the world and then returned in 1990 as the principal.

I credit the promotion to my fierce politicking, precinct walking, telephone solicitations and superior monetary donations to a talented black female candidate. A man heard me working the phones and thought I was running for office. What a laugh, of course all principal candidates are deemed qualified and competent. Like cream of the crap I sank below that level, in order to succeed in this crummy business. Shameful but it worked! No Ivory Tower here.

Strange it’s after 5:00 p.m.. Only the community rep is here, none of the other council members. Oh, joy the Teachers Union representative’s waltzing in with her big grin and blank stare hands me several messages.

"Good afternoon" Mr. Bello, "I don’t think your committee is going to show," she said, expressing her delight with a grunt and toothy sneer.

What a loser and she doesn’t know it. All the business people cancelled. What’s going on? My administrative staff is all over the school prepping classrooms, setting up good food (out of my pocket), the auditorium, and the special parking spaces for guests.

"Hey big guy" said Bart McLeod, my assistant principal, "There’s a war going on all around us, partner."

What the hell are you talking about?

Running outside I could see fire and smoke to the south, west and east of the school. Man, our students are dedicated coming to school amid police sirens, streets full of screaming people, rampant gangs in cars, throwing signs and showing colors. Fools firing weapons in all directions, mobs breaking into buildings with their bare hands and using vehicles, as battering rams, thieves looting stores smiling and enjoying the criminal mayhem.

Racing to my office, glancing at my watch already 6:00p.m. Oh my God! I called the District Office for instructions; nobody there, what happened to the vaunted night staff ready to answer all questions and give assistance, shit. Anxiously calling LAPD for help, they told me they couldn’t respond.

"Sorry sir, you’re on your own" said the courteous operator "the entire city is on tactical alert."

Later that night I learned they returned to their bases fearing for their safety, while their commanders were in Las Vegas leaving our guardians leaderless. Whatever happened to the "Protect and to Serve" crap. Thank goodness for the Sheriff and Highway Patrol. They were out there trying to protect the city bashing heads and arresting criminal citizens.

I managed to reach sensitive Sonya, the superintendent's hatchet woman at her home.  Explaining the situation and asking for guidance she responded. 

"Weren’t you watching television at 3:00p.m. today?"

No, I don’t have a television in my office and the teachers and staff are not allowed to watch television during working hours per your dictum. What happened to the District night staff?

"We all left and went home."

Sonya, thanks for the advanced warning, slamming the phone in its holder. The sensitive bitch.

Across the street the Korean Swapmeet building is being vandalized, broken into and stripped clean. Trucks ramming through the steel rollup doors making the Korean-hating looters deliriously happy inside. This didn’t happen at the North-Side Koreatown District because Korean sharpshooters were waiting atop buildings guarding their businesses, property and lives against anyone stupid enough to try looting.

Dammed, the Korean Swapmeet building is in flames. Panicked students and teachers are trying to escape the riot jamming the hallways, the sidewalks, the parking lots and the streets. I quickly organized our emergency teams with walkie-talkies, flashlights, and crowbars designated for earthquake preparedness, but also handy as directional pointers. I ordered the special school police to secure the perimeters, the assistant principals to direct the exiting traffic using flashlights and crowbar pointers, the clerical staff to man the communication systems and direct hallway traffic to emergency exits. The custodians swept the campus and secured all the buildings and locked them.

Directing traffic, watching rioters swarm out of burning buildings arms full of loot, enduring the scorching heat and smoke from the fires across the street. My only protection was the main building breezeway and its iron gates.

A hysterical woman custodian yanked my arm with her sharp nailed hands screaming "where’s the principal, where’s the principal?"

Miss, I am the principal.

"Get us out of here, what do we do? Help me, I’m going to die."

No, you won’t. Stay next to me. Comforting her and dealing with some of the looters trying to enter the school with suitcases, hats on top of hats, boom boxes, VCR’s, TV’s and other cheap junk was rough. Confronting and recognizing some of them as students, they told me they wanted to use their lockers to hide the loot. I wonder if their parents are doing the same thing.

"May I be of assistance, Mr. Bello?"

Yes, officer. Please get these thieves off my campus.

"Gentlemen, please allow me to escort you off the school property."

That officer is always so smooth. The rioters were very respectful of the school property not one window was broken or building damaged.

Jesus, Bart, you big dumb Irishman get out of the street you’ll get killed. You’re not a Texas Ranger anymore, yelling into my walkie-talkie at the top of my lungs.

"Heard ya partner, over and out."

Bart, is the most loyal and brave man I’ve ever known, but his balls are bigger than his brain.

"Well Jason, the school is clear of all staff except the office people coming out of the main office right now." Bart said.

"Mr. Bello, may we go home now?" Said the secretary.

Yes, of course I’ll inform the stalwart district personnel of your true dedication and bravery to our students and community.

"Thank you sir."

The secretary didn’t really understand my full meaning. Those cowardly bastards and bitches are safe hiding in their luxurious homes while my little office staff met the rioters face to face standing tall, proud and never flinching. They are heroes to me.

Bart hollered, "let’s get out of here, which direction do we go?" Let’s head north. I don’t see fire or smoke.

"What happens if rioters try to stop us?" Yelled Bart.

Run them down partner and we’ll report it to the police tomorrow, if we can find any of them. Riding in Bart’s car gave me time to think. Wol Ku Il April 29 the Korean community will whisper that date for years to come. The night when the riots, rebellion, civil disobedience or whatever shit name they give it. They chased a contributing, fine, hard working immigrant minority out of South-Central Los Angeles. Just like the ‘65 Watts Riots when they chased that other minority out, never to return. Wol Ku Il.

End

Copyright © 2000, Jacob Arlington Vance

Courtesy Vara’s Travel Publishing, all rights reserved.

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