California dreamin’? A street’s- eye view of Obama
At the South Central L. A. corner where truck driver Reginald Denny was beaten nearly to death 20 years ago, locals reflect on politics
LOS ANGELES — The most notorious corner in California doesn’t tempt many gourmets. It’s the six- lane crucifix where Florence and Normandie avenues collide in the district called South Central: two gas stations, a liquor store, an auto- parts distributor, a party- supply shack, and a tiny hut called Art’s World Famous Chili Dogs that has been a witness to the best and baddest down here since 1944.
But what really made this intersection world famous was the beating and near- murder of a truck driver named Reginald Denny for the crime of the colour of his skin.
That was in April 1992 just after four white police officers were acquitted by a suburban, all- non- black jury, of kicking and billy- clubbing an AfricanAmerican citizen named Rodney King. Maybe you remember what happened next: thousands of fires; 50 killings; looting, rage and unchecked rampage across black and Latino South Central.
Reginald Denny, 31, had the bad luck to be driving a trailer down Florence just as the anarchy accelerated. When he stopped for a red light, four, then six men of colour dragged Denny from his cab, beat him, danced around the victim and spat on him, flashed happy hand jive to the helicopter- borne camera crew that was recording the incident, and went on with their day.
The driver survived 91 blows to the skull, and in court he hugged the moms of his would- be killers. A couple of the assailants went to prison ( so, eventually, did two of the cops who stomped on Rodney King); the rest got off with probation. And Florence and Normandie went down in the books as not the sort of intersection where people go to idle away an afternoon.
It’s a sunny Saturday when I drive down from the Hollywood Hills to plumb the Mood of America in one of America’s least touristic neighbourhoods.
When I walk into Art’s World Famous Chili Dogs and order a cherry soda, a man named Van Tavares is working behind the counter of the stucco shack. He says it’s his 10th year at Art’s, and that Art himself has long since died.
“What’s the mood at Florence and Normandie?” I ask him, cheerfully.
“We’re just living and trying to survive,” Tavares replies. “And it ain’t easy, either. Ain’t NOBODY making money like they used to. Not here in South Central, not ANYWHERE. ”
“Whom do you blame for that?” I wonder. “Bush, Bush, Bush, Bush,” Van Tavares says. “Didn’t he admit it on a talk show that he left Obama a lot of problems.”
I survey the establishment, which is smaller than the average bathroom of the average suburban house. Then I broach the subject of Reginald Denny and that awful afternoon in 1992.
“Yeah, we had a RIOT,” Van Tavares says. “And not just because of him.” I switch to politics. “Are you going for the Democrats this year?” I ask. “Yeah,” says the man behind the counter. “I ain’t rich.”
A couple of blocks to the west, I spot a rack of clothing. This turns out to be an assortment of Barack Obama T- shirts advocating his re- election and featuring the 44th president in black Raiders regalia, the colours that the gangbangers of South Central used to favour to the point of death.
Sitting on a chair beside the merchandise is a man named Marcel Hardy, wearing an Obama shirt, campaign button, and blue jeans with a portrait of Barack Hussein Obama on one leg and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King on the other.
“They’re Afro- centric,” he explains when I walk over. “It’s a cultural thing.” “But are they selling?” I ask him. “Business is nothing special,” Hardy replies. He, too, tells me that he thinks that Obama has performed respectably as president, given the state of affairs that he was handed.
“I look at it this way,” he says. “If Bush hadn’t done such an awful job, a brother never would have got in office.”
“How are things on Crenshaw Boulevard?” I ask. “Just another day in the ’ hood,” says Hardy. “A day you don’t get shot, that’s a good day in South Central.”
Directly across Crenshaw is another man selling identical wares. He is a Vietnam combat veteran named Mike Scott who greets me with a hearty handshake and similar political views.
“I don’t see anything but war with Mitt Romney around,” he says. “He doesn’t know how to reach people. He’s in another world.”