Quote of the Year 2014 Already Announced, Regards Falluja

Sunday Jan 5, 2014, on page A-10 of the New York Times, I read the quote of the year. Yes, as of now, 358 days remain in 2014 to top this quote, but it won't happen.

To make it more impressive as a great quote, it was a kicker, the end of a story, the last line of a journalism piece  I don't know if they call it a "kicker" in other writing forms, novels, screenplays. If so, then "Nobody's perfect" was the kicker of "Some Like It Hot".

So the kicker quote comes from Fallujah, the defiant city of Iraq's Anbar Province. Nearly a decade ago  Fallujah became the symbolic front line  of the Iraqi insurgency when on March 31, 2004 four American security contractors from Blackwater were killed there, their corpses burnt and two of the bodies hung across the Euphrates River for the world to gasp.

Two intense battles later, the  U.S. Marines took over the city in November, 2004 and the Iraqi government had it under relative control for nearly a decade. Then, the first week of 2014, it was announced that Fallujah was no longer in control of the Iraqi government but split between militant factions; including the Islamic State of Iraq and Levant (ISIL) and militias of Sunni tribes

The Jan. 5. Times article has the bylines of  Yasir Ghazi (from Baghdad) and Tim Arango ( from Istanbul). But, an unnamed NYT correspondent "reporting from Anbar Province" had to get the quote of the year.

Here's the two last paragraphs of the story :

"A heavy firefight also erupted on the main highway linking Baghdad and Anbar, with fighters taking three tanks and other military vehicles, according to police.

"The fighters, though, apparently did not know how to use the tanks, and got out a call over a mosque's loudspeaker. "If anybody knows how to drive a tank. please come to the mosque."  

Top that.

Fallujah tank4.jpg

A Christmas Tree For Murder Victims

The police were putting a sheet over a dead body when Ramona McClinton showed up. She scanned the growing, curious crowd for her boyfriend. She cell phoned him. A light came on under the sheet.

Ramona's story was one of the many heard Wednesday night in a meeting room with probably the highest concentration of heartache in this city. It was LAPD's 77th Street Division's "Tree Trimming", an annual event where family and friends of homicide victims gather to talk about their tragedies and how they are coping, receive toys from Santa and thank detectives.

The actual tree trimming occurs when photos of the homicide victims are secured to a Christmas tree in the lobby of LAPD's South Bureau on Broadway and 77th Street. Angie Moreno of the Los Angeles City Attorney's Office Victim Services is driving force of this somber event which  started in 2002. Some of those remembered died years ago, Many others were killed this year.

"How robbed I feel. How violated I feel," said Jackie Walker, whose 24-year-old grandson Marcus Quinten Rogers was killed in March, 5 this year on 110th and Main streets. Moments later, Jackie rushed to the podium to support her daughter, Marcus' mother. 

Patrice Morgan said she was so depressed over the death of her brother Keyonta Muhammad Ansari that she contemplated suicide. Ansari, 22, was shot in the back of the head on Van Ness Avenue near 53rd Street on his way to play basketball. Now she is forming her own victim's assistance program in his honor.

On and on the aching stories went. They talked about how the news of sudden death came to them and how it "seems like yesterday". How Christmas is so  hard. How "you can lose a mom, you can lose a dad, but when you lose a child..."

Still, there was a common thread in everyone's talk, praise for the homicide detectives handling their loved one's case, even if it had yet to be solved. 

Commander Bill Scott also lauded the murder cops.  "There is not a more determined and dedicated group of detectives in the country, probably in the world, than the men and women of South Bureau's Criminal Gang Homicide Division.  We can never say we know your pain. But, we understand it. It does matter to us."

 

Family and friends of murder victims at LAPD's 77th Street Division of SouthBureau

Family and friends of murder victims at LAPD's 77th Street Division of SouthBureau

My Improbable Redemption

December 09, 2012

In 1985, I shot someone.

It happened outside the Rustic Inn, a bar in an unincorporated section of Los Angeles near Compton, which was where I spent most of my free time back then.

Moments before the shooting, I had been in a barroom brawl. My friend George and I were drinking Heinekens and taking sips off a half-pint of Seagram's VO we'd stashed atop a rickety wooden beam at the beer-only bar's side-porch entrance.

Three guys walked in and began staring at us. George, a big guy quick to unleash his fists, asked them — in Comptonese — what they were looking at. It was on.

I'm not a great brawler, but I'm a good friend, and I couldn't let George go one-on-three. The fight moved two steps down from the bar where two pool tables sat — five men punching, kicking, gouging, ducking, yelling, swinging pool sticks, hurling pool balls. My most vivid memory of the fight is an orange-and-white pool ball whizzing by my face and — amid all that chaos — thinking to myself, "That's the 13."

George and I got the upper hand and the three guys ran outside, one of them yelling, "Get the gun." That was chilling, even to a drunk.

It just so happened I had an AK-47 in my trunk that night.

Come on now? Really? It "just so happened"?

It did. Two days earlier, my cousin Lynn told me her husband did not want me to stash "that machine gun" at their Torrance house anymore. I picked it up and put it in my trunk.

As the three guys got to their car, I popped that trunk. I fired 17 rounds, I later discovered. I tell myself I fired to scare them off, not to hit or kill. But one 7.62-mm bullet hit a leg. Another busted a window and went into the wall of a room where two people were lying. I could have killed them both.

Witnesses led detectives to me. I was arrested for several crimes, including attempted murder. I faced 15 to life. I remember hoping, wishing, even praying I would only get six years in prison and do three.

But because my father paid $5,000 for a lawyer, because of a "them or me" argument, a plea deal, and because I'm Caucasian, I got 30 days in the county jail. Thirty days! If I was black and had a public defender, no doubt I'd have been Folsom-bound.

I quit drinking after that. In the 1990s, I was a reporter for the Los Angeles Times covering Watts and South Central. I've often said a political reporter should know something about politics, a medical writer should know about medicine, and a crime reporter — well, you get the idea. I became friends with gang members. When they went to prison, I'd write to them, and sometimes enclose a $20 money order or a book.

They wrote back. They were not forgotten. They appreciated it. Some shouldn't have been in prison. Others, like me, should have.

Never one to analyze my actions too closely, it wasn't until a couple of years ago that it struck me that one reason I wrote those letters was because it could've been me in there. It wasn't that I felt guilty. I was guilty.

It could have been me thinking, "I'm gone and forgotten." How good it would have been to get a letter, to get 20 bucks, to get a book that would take me outside the prison walls for 300 pages.

My sobriety lasted years. Then I decided I could handle a beer, a glass or two of red wine, and still stop. Surprise! I couldn't. So, after a few months of drinking, I'd quit again for month or two. This went on for years. I never intended to quit for good. I was just "on the wagon" and looking forward to tumbling off.

But earlier this year, I went on a wretched binge. Two 750s of Smirnoff ruined my balance. I tripped and cracked open the back of my head on the bedroom dresser. Blood spurted onto three walls. My girlfriend was out of town, but my sister, warned by worried friends, came to the house that day. She walked into that horrific scene. She got me to an emergency room. Twelve staples in my head.

That was eight months ago. I quit drinking. Again. But now I no longer say I'm on the wagon. I say, "After a long and storied career, I have retired."

Early on, I went to a few AA meetings. I don't like them. Maybe I hit the wrong meetings, but they seem to focus on backsliding, and how you can come back from it. I don't want to hear that.

I know I can't drink anymore. I also know that maybe I will. I can't even say with certainty that I won't be drunk when I read this in the paper. But don't bet on it.

I bring all this up because those letters I sent to prisons paid off recently. I heard from an inmate, Kevin "Big Cat" Doucette, a legendary shot caller for one of L.A.'s most notorious street gangs, the Rolling 60s Crips. Many years ago, police described him as one who "instills fear in the neighborhood."

He's also my friend. I've known him for 17 years. Somehow, Cat heard of my latest, inglorious Smirnoff defeat and sent a letter that inspired me to stay sober more than any AA testimony group session.

After two paragraphs describing life in federal prison, he switched his tone. Here's what he wrote, as he wrote it:

"My dude, you and drinking, yall dont go together at all.... Anything that you cant control that controls you; that aint tha set, Mike! I've got love for you, so when I speak as I do, know that I mean nothing but good: find you another high in life. A positive one ... try life itself. My Man, we both know that life is to short as it is for us to be twisted on anything, fo real it is."

I keep that letter in my wallet. It reminds me of drinking. It reminds me of prison. It reminds me of two people lying in a room my bullets invaded.

http://articles.latimes.com/print/2012/dec/09/opinion/la-oe-1209-krikorian-arrest-prison-shooting-20121209

Richard Fausset on the Morning after Robert Blake's Wife Was Killed

Richard Fausset near Mexico City, Mexico   

An old but telling anecdote about the novelist Michael Krikorian: On the morning of May 5, 2001, I was cold-calling police stations from the old LAT Valley newsroom when some random desk jockey at LAPD North Hollywood--trying for cop-cool but coming off half-hysterical--mentions that Robert Blake's wife had been shot to death in her car around the corner from Vitello's Restaurant in Studio City. I had to let Google remind me who Robert Blake was: "Baretta" had been off the air for nearly a quarter century. Oh shit: *that* Robert Blake. 

I flew to the crime scene, all cub reporter elbows and knees, tongue hanging from mouth, and soon joined in the LA sunshine by a thousand vultures and buzzards and hacks and hyenas in Clarks comfort shoes who smelled a classic hunk of bloody LA noir: the scrupulous and unscrupulous were there, the NY Times and the National Enquirer, local cop-shop dorks with coffee stains on Arrow shirts, nearsighted police-scanner junkies, and, this time, hordes of well-moussed national TV hacks, salivating as they imagined the animated graphic and the whoosh and the theme music that would soon accompany this particular loss of human life, the weeks of whodunnit Hollywood scandal coverage that would allow their viewers a break from the complicated and depressing reality of places like Afghanistan, and characters like Mullah Mohammad Omar, whose followers had just dynamited the Bamiyan Buddhas: in retrospect, our generation's Bad Moon Rising. 

So anyway, anyway... eventually Krikorian gets there, fire-red eyeballs hanging out of his head and looking like he'd gone to sleep in his blazer. I worked, and as I worked, I watched Krikorian work, dancing from place to place, recreating the scene, imagining motive, footsteps, angles, collecting scraps of dialog from witnesses and neighbors. And I distinctly recall--as the scrum of reporters reached peak mayhem, as the deadline clock ticked, as assistant city editors, following orders from editors from other tax brackets, jangled our cell phones every 25 seconds for scraps of updates-- I remember how Krikorian randomly picks out this floral-print dress from a rack outside of a curio shop on Tujunga Blvd. and holds it in front of a pretty blonde. "You know, you'd look fantastic in this," he says, with that charming, napalm-strafed wreck of a voice. The blonde looks back, pauses for a second, and decides, after brief internal deliberation, to smile generously. Because he was right: The dress would have looked great on her. He noticed that it matched her eyes.

So that, for me, is the genius of Michael Krikorian: elegance amid the ugliness, an eye for beauty and detail, love and blood, sunshine and death. And now he has a crime novel out that's been well-reviewed and blurbed by the likes of Michael Connelly. I'm looking forward to reading it. You can order it on Amazon:

Rescue Helio.jpg

Manual Arts student, 14, killed in Vermont Square

 "You never know, i mean, you know what you've got, but you never really, really know 'til it's over and it's all gone."  - Carresha Skiffer on the killing of her 14-year-old son Elawnzae. 

Saturday night, Nov 9, after working out, Elawnzae Peebles was walking toward 47th Street and Kansas Avenue in Vermont Square. He was roughly 200 feet from his cousin's house where he had been living for the last two months. You know what's coming.

One, maybe two cars rolled up on Kansas Avenue. Gunshots. Elawnzae, a Manual Arts HIgh School student, was struck. He managed to run around the corner to 46th Street. But, there, a shooter finished off the boy, according to the street. Elawnzae was not a gang member,  according to everybody, including the police.

Monday, at the first shooting scene, there was a hasty memorial  - a photo of a smiling boy surrounded by murder candles -  the grim urban prop known on almost every corner of the Southside of Los Angeles.  Elawnzae's grandmother, who had raised him,  arrived as local television news stations were filming that familiar, awful tribute.  

"Is this where it happened?" grandma Brenda Chatma asked in a weary voice. She bowed her head and decried the violence. She had raised the boy when his mother was unable to. 

Standing solemnly on Kansas Avenue,  his cousin, Josiah, 15, and his friends, Wisdom Muhammad, 17,  and Elijah Phillips, 15, told how Elawnzae kept to himself, never bothered anyone, liked to crack jokes and loved to eat.   

 "He was little, but, man, could he eat," said Elijah.  "We just went to Denny's the other day. He got the unlimited pancakes and a smoothie."

"Mango," said his dejected couisn Joisah.

 "He almost ate all the pancakes there," said Wisdom with a sad laugh.

A minute later, a member of the local gang, the Rollin 40s Crips, walked up and tried to console Elawnzae's mother and aunt.

"He was a good kid," said the 25-year-old gang member who asked that his name not be used.  "Hell, no, he wasn't in the 40s or any gang. I used to tell him to stay in school. It ain't the world, it's the people in it, You feel me?"

Elawnzae had been living in Lancaster with his aunt Falesha - who gave him his unique name -  but moved to Los Angeles in September to be closer to his mother Carresha.

"I talked to him on the phone after he worked out Saturday night," said Carresha.  "The  last thing I said to him was "You get home safe."

Elawnzae doing what he loved to do.

Elawnzae doing what he loved to do.

Marlo Stanfield Is Now Det. Harry Bosch's Partner

Facing life in prison for conspiracy to operate a drug organization and orchestrating dozens of murders, Marlo Stanfield has agreed to enter the Actor's Protection Program, where he will pretend to be the detective partner of MIchael Connelly's iconic LAPD  homicide investigator Harry Bosch for an upcoming Amazon series.    

Using the alias Jamie Hector, the once-murderous thug who took on the Avon Barksdale gang in West Baltimore while trying to repulse a rampage by Omar Little, was on the set of "Bosch" as they shot Wednesday on the roof of LAPD's  Hollywood Station,  Take after take, Hector appeared from a darkened stairwell to met Bosch, played by Titus Welliver, who was smoking a cigarette and contemplating his latest difficulties with the LAPD brass. 

"Man, this is acting is harder than simply telling Chris and Snoop to go kill someone," said Marlo, oops, I mean Jamie,  who, nevertheless seemed to be coasting into the role of Bosch's partner, Det. Jerry Edgar.

"He's doing great," said real life Det. Tim Marcia of LAPD's Robbery Homicide Division.  Marcia regaled Stanfield, oops I mean Hector, with colorful stories of being on patrol in LAPD's dangerous Southeast Division.

"I wish he was my boot," said Marcia, referring to the term for a police officer straight out of the academy.

The show is expected to premiere on Amazon's Prime Instant Video in early Spring, 2014.

 

Classic combination  Detective Tim Marcia actor Jamie Hector and writer Michael Connelly on the set of "Bosch"

Classic combination  Detective Tim Marcia actor Jamie Hector and writer Michael Connelly on the set of "Bosch"

Why Homicide Cops Do What They Do

If anyone ever wondered what motivates a homicide cop to do what he or she does,  they should've seen Sandra Balbuena at Monday's LAPD press conference to announce two suspect have been arrested and charged with the murder of her father in what has become known as the "craigslist cell phone killing". 

At the 77th Street press conference Sandra, the heartbroken 19-year-old daughter of Rene Balbuena who was killed Oct. 19 on Gramercy Place near 92nd Street, spoke not only of her father, but of those detectives that broke the case.

"My dad was my best friend," said Sandra, her voice cracking as she stood next to Det. Chris Barling, supervisor of 77th Street Division's homicide detectives. "My dad was everything to me. Nothing ever is going to bring him back."

Then addressing Barling and the other detectives, she continued. "I don't have the words to thank you for everything you have done for me and my family. My family is really grateful. I know you didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't stop. I want to thank everyone else, too, for their support for my family.  The community The schools."  

Even watching on a television miles away from 77th and Broadway, I could feel the emotions - pride, sorrow, determination, gratitude - coursing through that press conference.   

Rene Balbuena, 41, of South Gate, was with his 15-year-old son when they were attacked by two teenage gang members who had lured the victims there with the craigislist ad to rob them. During the botched robbery-turned homicide, Sandra's brother was grazed by a bullet. He was treated and released from a local hospital.

 "I am just grateful I still have my brother," Sandra said. "I just really want to thank everyone." 

As for Det. Barling, he singled out lead investigator Dean Binluan and his partners for praise, as well as Criminal Gang Homicide Division, LAPD's Southwest Division's gang and robbery tables, Metropolitan's K-9 unit, Robbery Homicide's Special Surveillance Squad and the joint FBI/LAPD Task Force.  "This investigation would not have come to such a quick conclusion without the help of those entities." Barling said. 

Markell Thomas, 18, and Ryan Roth, 17, of Inglewood have been charged in the killing. 

 "This is about the family and their loss," said Det. Sal LaBarbera. "And about us trying to prevent stuff like this. That is what drives us."

 

Bounty Hunter Triple OGs Speak At Flipside's Funeral

There probably were more ex-convicts with knockout punches gathered outside a Watts Baptist church at 114th Street and Graham Avenue recently than there were in all the gyms in Los Angeles that day.  

The hard hitters — Bounty Hunter Bloods from Nickerson Gardens housing project — were convened at Macedonia Baptist Church, not to wreak havoc but to hear the wiser, original gangsters, the "Triple O.G.s," exhort them to not "grab your Glocks" and "hunt down the killers" of a beloved homie.

The gathering was, in a real sense, a state funeral for Nickerson Gardens: a somber, loving, sometimes humorous farewell to Kevin "Flipside" White, aka "Dirty Kev," a rapper with O.F.T.B. (Operation From The Bottom) who signed with Death Row Records in the 1990s. White, 44, was gunned down on Sept. 23 in front of his childhood home, about 500 feet from the church.

Ten minutes after Flip White was killed, Markice "Chiccen" Brider, 29, was shot to death a few blocks east on 114th Street at Imperial Courts housing project. The Los Angeles Police Department arrested three suspects for both shootings — Grape Street Crips from Jordan Downs project in Watts — but only one has been charged.

Fear of a return to the bloody Watts of decades past put everyone on red alert.

Inside Macedonia Baptist, a Triple O.G. from way back, Ronald "Kartoon" Antwine, 54, shared tender remembrances of Flipside. He then urged the Bounty Hunters, L.A.'s most infamous Bloods, not to retaliate against Grape Street.

"Let the police do their job," Antwine said. "Outside this church right now is the LAPD officer who did what he was supposed to do that night — and caught the shooters."

Then something extraordinary happened. The overflowing congregation of 700 people stood and loudly cheered. It went on for 20 seconds.

"For the people of Watts to applaud about the LAPD making an arrest is such a huge transformation — that clearly shows what we have built with that community," LAPD Sgt. Emada Tingirides says.

The long applause was "the culmination of years of partnerships between the police, interventionists and the community," says her husband, LAPD Capt. Phillip Tingirides. "We're in a good relationship with the community, especially Nickerson and Imperial. The police do care."

A few blocks away, the repast for Markice "Chiccen" Brider was held. Brider's cousin Deshawn Cole, who was featured in L.A. Weekly's April 4 article "A Gay Leader Emerges in the 'Hood," explained, "People are coping, instead of going crazy.

"It's a different time, a new generation," Cole said. "They don't need things to be dangerous like it was for previous generations."

Sgt. Tingirides agrees. "Flip was connected to Death Row Records, to Athens Park, to other hoods," she says. "The [other] hoods were telling the Bounty Hunters, 'Point us in the right direction and we will take care of business.' But community leaders from Nickerson told them they didn't want that anymore."

Up until the early 2000s, the gang wars littered L.A. with bodies. In 1996, Flipside's song "Check Yo Hood" warned, "And now the projects have turned into a war zone. I guess the only rule now, to each his own."

Even after violent crime plummeted in L.A., the projects were still a dangerous world. From January 2002 to August 2011, 69 homicides hit Nickerson Gardens, Jordan Downs and Imperial Courts.  

But then, for 22 amazing months, nobody was murdered in the three projects — and then, on June 23 this year, Floyd Videau was shot to death in Imperial Courts. And in August, Damionye Terrelle Fredricks-Hubbard, 23, aka "Roscoe," was killed at Nickerson Gardens. A week later, Capt. Tingirides was walking through Nickerson. There hadn't been any payback shootings.

"There were some hard-core Bounty Hunters standing around," Tingirides recalls. "Guys in their late 20s. I walked by and said, 'I want to tell you, thank you. I appreciate you not jumping back and wasting more lives.' One guy said, 'You're welcome. The right thing to do.' "  

"I was flabbergasted. I just said, 'Thanks again,' and walked away. But by me acknowledging they were doing something right, it threw some responsibility on them."

Tingirides credits many, but two men from Nickerson Gardens, "Big Donny" Joubert and "Big Hank" Henderson, stand out.

"We cannot go back to where we were before," says Joubert, 53, a Triple O.G. whom some consider the most respected man in Watts. "We have to stay strong. We are going to have some tragedies down the road, but we have to push for peace. I wish more folks would come aboard this train."

At Flipside's funeral, Joubert urged, "Don't just show up when there's a service. We need you all the time. If you love your community like you say, you need to help. The younger cats love the encouragement."

The night before the funeral, at Flipside's house, Ronald "Lowdown" Watkins, with whom White formed O.F.T.B., was convincing himself and others that retaliation against Grape Street was not an option.

Said Lowdown: "It's past rough. 'Rough' ain't even a word for it. I'm a rapper. I got a lot of words, but I'm at a loss of words when it comes to this shit right here."

But, in fact, he wasn't at a loss: "The cold part about it is, everything that we ever built for our whole life, do I let it go or do I keep going? There's no question about it. Keep going. We got kids. We got homies' kids whose fathers are dead. If we can't find a better way out of this, how can we expect them to? We ain't going back to going stupid. Not on my watch."

"Going stupid" would be driving though Jordan Downs and shooting anyone who resembled a Grape Street Crip.

This once was considered a proper reaction. And a leading contender to do something "stupid" used to be Bam.

That's Michael Herbert, 49, Flip's older brother. Released this year from Corcoran State Prison after serving 17 years on drug charges, he's haunted by Flip's killing yet determined not to strike back. "Now it's like he's my older brother and I need to listen to him and not do anything foolish," he says.

It isn't just hard-core ex-cons who seem to be different. LAPD Senior Lead Officer Robert Yanez says residents offered tips that, two hours after Brider and White were killed on Sept. 23, propelled him, alone in his squad car, to pull over the driver of a Chrysler Town & Country minivan.

Yanez tells the Weekly he saw two other men inside, slumped in their seats — and the sliding door open. Yanez's gun at "low ready" position, he called for backup. Cops arrested three men and found two guns.

One man, Kevin Phillips, 26, identified with the Grape Street Crips, pled not guilty to two counts of murder. One was held on a parole violation and the third was released.

Last week, rapper Lowdown Watkins poured some Hennessy on the ground near where his best friend died. "I'm used to going to every funeral with this nigga," Watkins said. "I'm used to everything that come up, some crisis, some problems, Flip 'n' me going there and dealing with it. But, damn, Flip can't come with me on this one."

Outdoor activity has been minimal at Jordan Downs since the killings on 114th Street. The vibe was akin to your next-door neighbor having done something bad — but you were going to be punished for it.   

If they were waiting for a payback killing, for things to get "stupid," it hasn't come. And if Big Donny, Capt. T, Kartoon, Sgt. T and Lowdown have their way, it won't.

 

Five More Killings on the Southside of Los Angeles

THE WONDERFUL MISTER JOHNSON

Herman Johnson had a routine. For years, every morning, the 74-year-old retired Los Angeles City worker would step off the porch of his home on Cimarron Street near 36th Place and take a long walk around his Exposition Park neighborhood.  

He took the stroll this past Sunday, Oct., 6,  but that walk - and his life -  ended around 6:20 a.m. at 37th Street and Western Avenue when someone shot him in the back of his head.

"He was a wonderful man, just wonderful,"  said Eva Mae Smith, 93, who has lived on this quiet block of Cimarron since 1934. "You couldn't ask for a better neighbor."

Sitting on her couch in her immaculate living room, Smith spoke quietly about the kindness of a neighbor she had known for more than  30 years.

"I don't know anyone who could even say one single bad word about Mr. Johnson. He really was wonderful. After my husband passed, he would come over and cut my lawn. He would take the garbage cans out. You would never have to ask him for a favor. He would ask you if you need anything. I can't believe someone would kill Mr. Johnson. Why would someone do something like that  to Mr. Johnson?  It's terrible how someone could do that to wonderful Mr. Johnson. "

LIL MAN

A couple hours later that Sunday morning, Anthony Anderson, 43,  was on the small front lawn of his place on East 90th Street near San Pedro Street watering his lawn. when a black male in his 20s appeared on foot. Many shots later,  Anderson lay bleeding to death on his driveway, the garden hose still running, splashing him, the water mixing with his blood.

Monday, a small memorial to Anderson was set up in front of the lawn .A cardboard sign read "Rest in Peace  Lil Man  Gone but not Forgotten."

Across the street a woman said her daughter was friends with the victim, but was too distraught to talk.

A PAIR OF TWO LAST BREATHS

Last Thursday, Oct. 3, at 6:25 p.m., Junius Wilson, 49,  was standing on the sidewalk at 108th Street and Browdway  when at least two suspects, driving in a light color compact vehicle, stopped nearby. One suspect  exited the car, approached Wilson and starting shooting with a handgun. The suspect then fled to the waiting vehicle.

Wilson collapsed on the sidewalk, but managed to get up and stumbled into the courtyard parking lot of the 108 Motel. He ran past the stunned motel manager, Bhupen Patel,  who was at the motel office window.

"This man came running. saying like 'Oh, oh'. and fell face down right there," said Patel, pointing to the front doors of rooms 101 and 102.  "He was shot in the chest,  He was breathing a little. then he took two final breaths."  

### 

Sixteen hours later, one block away, a resident on Olive Street north of 107th Street saw another man take his final two breaths.  

36-year-old Deandre Jackson was walking north Friday morning on Olive Street next to the Harbor Freeway when least two black male suspects In a dark color midsize vehicle stopped nearby. One suspect exited the car and began shooting at Jackson who was struck by the gunfire. The suspect re-entered the vehicle which sped away. 

"My husband and I heard the shots, woke up and opened the front door and there he was laying right there.," said Tawana Perry from the small front porch of her unit as she pointed to the sidewalk four feet away.   "His head was back, his eyes were open. My husband was saying 'Come on. come on. Stay with us'. But, then he took two last breaths."

On the exterior wall of Perry's  unit and on a metal fence at the sidewalk, there were four large bullet holes. Some of the large caliber bullets came through the wall into the bedroom of Perry's daughter who was inside sleeping.  "I'm still scared," said the 20-year-old daughter, shielding herself behind her mom.

SHATTERED GLASS

This morning, Oct. 8th,  Nery Chigua, 27, took his mother to a bus stop on Vermont Avenue and 82nd Street. As he was driving east, returning to his home on 82nd near Hoover Street, he was shot to death.  

Two residents reported hearing six gunshots, No one was home at the small house where Chiqua was said to be living. By 11 a.m., about five hours after the shooting, there was no indication to suggest that anything usually bad had happened at all on this  Southside corner other than a mess of shattered glass on the street.

  

Eva Mae Smith, 93, was shocked to hear about the killing of her neighbor, "wonderful Mr. Johnson".

Eva Mae Smith, 93, was shocked to hear about the killing of her neighbor, "wonderful Mr. Johnson".

Memorial for Anthony "Lil Man" Anderson on 90th and San Pedro 

Memorial for Anthony "Lil Man" Anderson on 90th and San Pedro 

Bullet Hole in one-inch wide metal fence poll on Olive Street and 107th Street where DeAndre Jackson died..

Bullet Hole in one-inch wide metal fence poll on Olive Street and 107th Street where DeAndre Jackson died..