Suspense Magazine Calls Southside "A Good Story"

"Southside is a solid debut novel from Los Angeles Times crime reporter Michael Krikorian. Krikorian writes what he knows, spinning a tale about a Los Angeles Times crime reporter, Michael Lyons, who covers the many gangs of the City of Angels. As an editor, I would have counseled Krikorian to not give the character-clearly a fictionalized version of himself-his own first name, which gets a bit too on the nose, but that's a minor nitpick.

The novel gets off to a somewhat disjointed start, with frequent shifting of narrative viewpoint from third person to first person, but the reader settles into the format and eventually the loose ends come together. The story really gets rolling when Lyons is gunned down in the street but survives. He has made many enemies through his reporting, but none of the possible suspects really seems to make sense. As the police investigation stalls, Lyons himself digs deeper into the case.

This classic set-up takes a nice twist about a third of the way in, setting the police department against Lyons and the paper, and the paper against Lyons, ratcheting up tensions and complicating the investigation. Other victims, who don't survive, may be connected, but the evidence is slim. Overall, these plot threads are handled well. "Southside" is a thriller rather than a whodunit, since the reader is introduced to the killer fairly early, and Krikorian builds the tension effectively as you wonder if the police or Lyons are going to catch up with the murderer before there's another victim.

The good guys occasionally make some rather large intuitive leaps from thin evidence, and sometimes the narrative tries a little too hard for its gritty street atmosphere, but despite being a little rough around the edges, "Southside" is a good story populated with colorful characters. Most of those characters, on either side of the law, are not simple stereotypes, but are complex, real people, which makes for engaging reading. It's definitely worth a try and provides firm footing for additional adventures for Michael Lyons."

Reviewed by Scott Pearson, author of "Star Trek: Honor in the Night" and cohost of the Generations Geek podcast, for Suspense Magazine

Nathan ignoring the grizzly bear at the San Diego Zoo

Nathan ignoring the grizzly bear at the San Diego Zoo

LA. Observed

Writing what you know: crime reporter Michael Krikorian

By Kevin Roderick | November 20, 2013 11:58 PM

When we last heard about journalist Michael Krikorian, he had written a colorful and revealing op-ed piece about the night he shot some guy in a brawl near Compton. [Technically, the last mention at LA Observed was when Krikorian blogged about his annual trip to Italy with girlfriend Nancy Silverton, the Pizzeria Mozza chef. But that was just a Morning Buzz brief.] That night outside a bar near Compton, Krikorian pulled an AK-47 from his car trunk and fired off 17 rounds. Not your average LA Times crime reporter.

Now he's out with his first crime novel, Southside, in which a main character is an LA Times gang reporter in South LA. Writing about what you know and all that.

Los Angeles Times gang reporter Michael Lyons has just left his favorite downtown saloon when he is shot and wounded on the sidewalk two blocks from City Hall. After the initial shock, fellow reporters put together a betting pool. The bet? "Who Shot Mike?" There are a lot of contenders. When the LAPD's investigation stalls, the Times runs editorials critical of the police. Then, when detectives uncover an audio tape of Lyons talking to a gang member about the benefits of getting shot, they release the tape. The embarrassed newspaper editor fires Lyons, who then sets out on the streets of Southside Los Angeles with a vengeance to find the shooter. When three seemingly unrelated people are murdered on the streets of L.A., Lyons connects them to his own shooting. The tie-in? An imprisoned, notorious gang shot-caller known as Big Evil, who Lyons made famous in a gang profile and whose younger brother is among the victims. But who is doing the killing?

Bestselling author Michael Connelly, himself an ex-Times crime reporter who sets his crime novels on the streets of Los Angeles, says of "Southside:" “In a place as well traveled by storytellers as Los Angeles, Michael Krikorian blazes a unique path with this powerful first novel.Southside has muscle, insight and all the right stuff."

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One of the Most Entertaining Thrillers of 2013 - S.F. Book Review

San Francisco Book Review,  Nov. 11, 2013

"Southside" 

--- Michael Krikorian is a professional writer, a journalist, showing the world he can turn his hand to fiction and, in Southside, produce one of the most entertaining thrillers so far this year. In this first novel, he’s playing safe by setting the book in LA, with his hero working for the Los Angeles Times. Not that the book is in any way autobiographical, of course. But the character of the hero draws on people the writer has known over the years. The result is both immensely thrilling and wonderfully informative. Indeed, a part of the fun of reading this book is the opportunity to learn more about the cultures in both the newsroom and on the streets where the gangs rule.

So here we go with the first in a series featuring Mike Lyons, a reporter on the gang beat in the Southside of LA with a shady past of his own and a habit of drinking while on the job. When someone shoots him in the gut, he’s not surprised, just a little puzzled at the timing. So then it’s a race to find out who took the shot before he comes back for another attempt.

- Reviewed by David Marshall 

Here's the link to the review

http://citybookreview.com/southside/

Ten Memorable Quotes From Outlaws I've Interviewed

1. "What's wrong with society today is there are no more fist fights". --Sonny Barger, leader of the Oakland Hells Angels 5/2/1996  L.A. Times

2. "Then I was going to stick the knife in his forehead, and I was hoping his mother was coming to visit him that day. That's how vicious I was, I knew I was going to death row."- Donald "Big D" Garcia, Mexican Mafia hitter-turned gang interventionist on his about his plan to kill a Hoover in County back in the 70s. 6/9/2003 L.A. Times

3."We should be on the list, We the most hated gang in town" - Set Trip from 5-deuce Hoover on a list complied by the  Mayor of L.A. and the chief of the LAPD of the 11 "worst" gangs in the city. 
 
4.  "I guess it's the establishment that I spent three years fighting for. You take off the khakis and the blue and put on some jeans and a leather jacket and immediately you become an asshole."  - "Wino" Willie Forkner, the outlaw biker who inspired the Marlon Brando movie "The Wild One" on what he was "rebelling against". When asked that in the 1954 film, Johnnie, the Brando character, replies famously "Whaddaya got?" 5/2/1996 L.A. Times.

5. "All the guys getting busted, they don’t realize what a life sentence is. When the pop goes off, when their head pops out of their ass and they realize they ain’t going home after just five years. When they realize they’ll never be able to taste a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder again. To see them go crazy when they hear their moms is dying and they’re locked up and can’t go see her. When they hear their woman is pregnant by their best homeboy. When they realize they’ll never see a night sky again." - Ronald "Kartoon" Antwine, storied former menace to society Bounty Hunter who  is now a Hollywood location scout.  From LA Weekly cover story "War and Peace In Watts". 7/14/2005 LA Weekly 

6. "Armenian people who put AP down, that say we are a disgrace, they don't know this life, This gangster's life." - Armen "Silent" Petrossyan, fallen leader of Armenain Power. 8/18/1997 L.A. Times

7. "Two girls are dead. If I'm not a monster than what am I? - Rex Krebs in a jailhouse interview admitting he killed two college students in San Luis Obispo. Krebs is on Death Row for the killings 4/27/1999 Fresno Bee

8. "Man, we've all lost homies, I know you're upset and hurt about your dead homies, but we have to move forward," -- Kevin "Big Cat" Doucette, feared  Rollin '60s shot caller urging younger gang members in his gruff way to focus on the living, not the dead. 4/5/1998 L.A. Times

9. "Who?" - Convicted cop killer Carlos "Stoney" Velasquez on being asked "Did you know Abel?" referring to Abel Escalante, the Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff he was convicted of killing. "Oh, yeah. Man, I don't even know his first name." 10/21/2010 LA Weekly

10. "Getting the death penalty saved my life." - Big Evil.  11/29/1998   Nearly 15 years later, late in the summer of 2013 I reminded Big Evil of that quote. He nodded and said "It did." 

INTERVIEW WITH A COP KILLER

This article appeared in the Cot 21, 2010 issue of the L.A. Weekly. 

ABEL AND STONEY

Carlos "Stoney" Velasquez receives a visitor on the fourth floor of the Twin Tower Jail, an area so secure it's used by just one inmate at a time. Velasquez, 26, has been incarcerated almost constantly since he was 13, graduating from juvenile hall to the California Youth Authority, Los Angeles County jail and state prison.

Now, possibly facing California's rarely exercised death penalty if convicted for the 2008 shooting death of Los Angeles County Sheriff's Deputy Abel Escalante, he doesn't seem overly concerned.

"It's no biggie," he says, his grin more disconcerting than the graphic gang tattoos covering his arms and neck. "I don't really worry. Maybe sometimes, but not really. Of course I want to get out. But what can I do?"

It is a biggie to a lot of people. Escalante's family and friends. The extended family of deputies who worked with 27-year-old Escalante at the county jail.  Law enforcement in general, especially the Los Angeles County District Attorney's Office.

"Velasquez was the shooter," says Deputy District Attorney Phillip Stirling of the Crimes Against Peace Officers division. "Our goal is to seek justice and the truth — and we have the right people."

Stirling says eyewitnesses, cell-phone calls made from jail and "side-to-side conversation he made at the old Parker Center with [co-defendant Guillermo] Hernandez" will sink Velasquez.

Authorities contend that Velasquez, an Avenues gang member, killed Escalante outside the victim's childhood home in Cypress Park in the early hours of Aug. 2, 2008, just nine days after the gangbanger was released from state prison.

Escalante, a former Army reservist, was getting in his car to drive to work when he was shot several times. Velasquez's cell phone was very active right after the 5:38 a.m. shooting. Federal authorities and the LAPD obtained taped phone conversations — including some made to state prisoners with illegally smuggled cell phones — and used those conversations to put together evidence that led to Velasquez's arrest on Drew Street on Dec. 12, 2008.

The District Attorney's Office has not been able to prove theories that Escalante was killed because he was a deputy.

The theory among some police holds that he was shot as payback for the bloody February 2008 street shootout between the Los Angeles Police Department, Danny "Klever" Leon and Velasquez's brother, Jose Gomez, which left Leon dead and Gomez wounded.

The deputy was not involved in that shootout, which led to the shutdown of the infamous Leon crime family of Drew Street. But some in law enforcement saw the slaying of a Sheriff's Department deputy as revenge for the successful actions of the Los Angeles cops who felled Leon.

But, Stirling says, "I think Velasquez just went into Cypress Park because he's a gang member who wanted to kill someone. It might have something to do with his brother and Klever getting shot. [Or] it might have been because many of his homies got murdered by [rival gang] Cypress Park" and he mistook the deputy for a rival gang member.

The key evidence is a series of taped phone conversations in which Velasquez allegedly admits to co-defendant Guillermo "Flea" Hernandez and others that he was the deputy's killer — but says he didn't know he was killing an officer.

During pretrial testimony in Los Angeles Superior Court in September, when Judge William R. Pounders ordered Velasquez and Hernandez to stand trial for murder next year, a witness said, "Stoney said he fucked up." And one LAPD detective said, "He shot someone who he thought was a rival gang member — but it was actually a cop."

Stirling and the Los Angeles Police Protective League are upset with the L.A. Times for printing the names of pretrial-testimony witnesses, including a 15-year-old. Yet Stirling admits the vicious Avenues gang would have figured out these witnesses' names, and probably "green-lighted" them for attacks. Still, he grumbles: "The Times just made it easier for them."

Asked by the Weekly if he shot Escalante, Velasquez says, "No. Of course I'm going to say I didn't."

His upper left arm is covered by a tattoo of a fur-coat-wearing, bullet-riddled skeleton wearing a brimmed hat — the Avenues symbol. Velasquez joined the gang when he was 13, became a member of the notorious Drew Street clique, and now says, "Where I grew up you got to join the gang. It's like the street is calling your name. And, yeah, I answered." 

Authorities describe him as being "as hard-core as they get in the Avenues."

Velasquez seemed surprised that a stranger had come to find out about a man accused of shooting another stranger dead. "I don't have much visitors. I haven't had a visitor for months."

He says he wanted to be an astronaut as a kid, and that he enjoyed Jim Carey movies. He never really knew his dad.  Both his mother and his wife are in custody. He reads in jail, and the first book he mentions is The Princes of Tides, by Pat Conroy.. 

When asked "Did you know Abel?" Velasquez smiled, like it was a name he should know.  "Who?" he asked. Abel. He smiled again, shook his head. Abel Escalante, he's told.

"Oh, yeah. Man, I don't even know his first name."

After learning of the interview, his attorney, Michael Adelson, admonished him for speaking to a reporter and sought a protective order to prevent reporters from interviewing his client. Judge Pounders said he did not have the authority to tell the media they cannot request interviews, but suggested to Velasquez that it might not be in his best interests to grant them.

Although the District Attorney's Office has not announced it is seeking the death penalty, Velasquez could receive it if found guilty because of the special circumstances of the case. A section of California Penal Code 190 allows for the death sentence if "the defendant  intentionally killed the victim while the defendant was an active participant in a criminal street gang ... and the murder was carried out to further the activities of the criminal street gang."

The irony is that while some prisoners and hard-core gang members might look up to the Avenues for causing a young deputy sheriff's death, the after-effects of murdering Escalante dealt a debilitating blow to the Avenues gang on the streets — particularly to its most infamous criminal cell, Drew Street.

The Weekly's October 2009 cover story, "The Assassination of Deputy Abel Escalante," described how a huge June 2008 police raid before the deputy's slaying badly damaged the Avenues gang and Mexican Mafia in the Cypress Park and Drew Street area. In reaction, Mexican Mafia prison thugs who control Latino-gang drug trafficking tried to rebuild their operations.

According to the U. S. Attorney's Office, using illegal cell phones and passing messages during prison visitations, the Mexican Mafia put out word from prison that they were taking back Cypress Park. Police say they chose Carlos Velasquez, who was being released from prison in a few days, to step into the shoes of the wiped-out Leon family of Drew Street.

But now, Velasquez sits in jail. More than 170 members of the Avenues, which authorities say has around 500 members, have been arrested since 2008. Many of the 170 have since been released from jail, but their power is diluted.

Homicides in LAPD's Northeast Division, which covers the Avenues territory, have plummeted 74 percent in two years. So far in 2010, the area has seen six homicides — compared with 23 for the same period in 2008. Aggravated assaults have dropped 45 percent from 509 to 278. 

Much of that, police believe, is because the Avenues gang has been driven from residential streets longing for quiet and decency.

Velasquez says he is not particularly worried about returning to prison — perhaps because he'll have a special status on the yard.  

A former Drew Street shot-caller now in federal custody explained to the Weekly what it might be like: "Once you are in state prison, they talk about why you are here," says convict Francisco Real. "I'm here for killing an enemy. And it's like I'm in here for killing a cop. So it's like people [are] like, 'Damn, he's with it. You know. He'll kill a cop.'

"In the yard — 1,000 people — you might be the only one killed a cop. It distinguishes you."

Deputy D.A> Stirling agrees with that cold reality. "The fact that he killed a police officer absolutely distinguishes Carlos Velasquez from other killers."

But on Drew Street, the shadow long cast by this menacing gang has all but vanished. The graffiti is gone, too.

"It's quiet now," says Jose Luna, an apartment manager in the area. "The neighbors are working with the police now. The LAPD is doing good."

Two blocks from where Escalante fell, at the Principe de Paz Church that Escalante's parents often attend, the pastor says the difference between now and two years ago is almost unbelievable.

"We had memorial services for 13 people, including Abel," says Pastor Andrew Catalan. His was the 13th service. "Since Abel, we have not had any. I think his death helped stop the killings."

Escalante's parents live less than 50 feet from where he died. It is still too painful for them to speak about their son. "I can't talk about him," says his father. His wife is behind him, just off to his side. She is slowly shaking her head. 

They both put their right hands over their hearts, tap three times, thank a stranger for not pushing it and walk inside their home.

http://www.laweekly.com/2010-10-21/news/deputy-abel-escalante-s-sorrowful-revenge/full/

Slain Los Angeles County  Deputy Sheriff Abel Escalante

Slain Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff Abel Escalante

AMAZING NO MORE

Amazing Ain't What it Used To Be

Give the word a rest so it can regain its true magnificence.

October 11, 2010

By Michael Krikorian

It's sad when you see magnificence decline into mediocrity or worse.

Muhammad Ali, unable to speak. Mickey Mantle limping back to the dugout, head down, after striking out. Brando looking like a beached Pacific walrus, mumbling away. Liz Taylor avoiding the spotlight. Renoir with hands so arthritic he could barely hold a brush. The word "amazing."

For too long now, I have been painfully aware of the failing meaning, diluted power and loss of essence of "amazing."

I have known for a few years that "amazing" was stumbling and that it was only a matter of time before irrelevancy set in, but still it hurts. Probably what irks me the most is how people don't even realize the word needs to be put on the injured reserved list or out to pasture.

Folks, I'm here to tell you officially, it's time. "Amazing" — the most misused, bastardized, overworked superlative in the American language — is no longer valid. Oh, people might still use it ad nauseam, but the significance is gone. And when a word losses its original intent, it's time for retirement.

The final, inevitable blow came last week when a friend described a doughnut to me as amazing. I am big-time into food, but doughnuts are not amazing. They can be tasty; they can be delicious. Nothing wrong with that. But a doughnut cannot stop you in your tracks in wonderment, in, in, in amazement.

"Amazing" and I go back about 47 years. We first became close in 1963 when, as a hard-core 9-year-old Marvel Comics buyer, I became fascinated with Spider-Man. If you don't know, he was known, on the cover, as "The Amazing Spider-Man."

I mean, this teenager, Peter Parker, after a spider bit him, could shoot webbing out of his wrist and cling to tall buildings and even go swinging like Tarzan from skyscraper to skyscraper! Cat could do all kinds of stuff: fight evil supervillains; rescue damsels in distress; throw a rock 'em sock 'em punch. He was, well, amazing.

But, about three years ago, I began noticing that "amazing" had become the go-to superlative. More and more, I started hearing it in inappropriate situations. It was sad because my old friend was starting to annoy me. "Amazing" turned cheap, a shell of its former self.

It started to mean good — not that there is anything wrong with good. I like good. But suddenly every thing was amazing. How was that movie? It was amazing. How was the concert? Amazing. How's the dust on top of your refrigerator? You guessed it.

Last week at a restaurant in south Hollywood that I frequent, a couple — thinking it was my first time there — used the word seven times in roughly 90 seconds to praise the food and service. If they kept up that torrid pace, allowing for eight hours of sleep, they would have said the word 1,634,200 times in 12 months. What lives of wonderment they must lead.

Two nights ago, at a Hollywood and Vine restaurant, the waiter described the Brussels sprouts as "amazing."

If everything is amazing then nothing is amazing.

"Amazing" is not the first superlative to lose its power. "Great" went long ago. But then, Alexander set the standard so high, it's demise wasn't shocking. For those of you who don't know, the word fizzled out in 1997 after announcer Al Michaels declared a four-yard run by Barry Sanders as great. I enjoyed watching Barry as much as anybody, but to me, you just about have to conquer Persia or at least the ancient port city of Tyre to be called great.

"Awesome" overdosed several years back. Everything was awesome. Remember that? The word went on life support and people backed off. It might never be the "awesome" we once knew, but it's making an ever-so-slight comeback

There's a tiny chance "amazing" can regain its former vitality. Unfortunately, it's highly unlikely, given the American love of superlatives and hyperbole. We'd all have to leave the poor thing alone. Realize what it really is. Maybe start abusing other words. "Tremendous" is still a tremendous word and not overworked. "Magnificent" is still magnificent.

"Amazing" should be deployed only for the truly special, um, spectacular. Like describing Yosemite in spring from Tunnel View. Like when Koufax pitched that perfect game against the Cubs. Like the aurora borealis. Like childbirth, (formally super-amazing). Like the 113-degree temperature last week downtown. Not like a crumb doughnut at Bob's, as much as I like crumb doughnuts on a Farmers Market morning.

I hope "amazing" gets the solitude it needs to recover. Do your part. The next time you hear it, stop the madness immediately. Explain that a once amazing word has hit the showers.

Michael Krikorian covered street gangs and the LAPD for The Times. He recently completed his first crime novel, "Southside," and a children's book, "The Sunflower Who Loved the Moon.

 

"Just a Little Lovin" ( Early in the Morning)

March 22, 2009

The New York Times

 

LIVES

Finding That Song

Back in 1998, I was driving down Pico Boulevard in Los Angeles when I spotted a man lying on his back smack dab in the middle of the street; one leg was splayed onto the westbound lane of Pico, the other onto the eastbound. I got out of my car, and as I approached I saw he was bleeding from his lower left side. I rushed to him, and before I could say anything, he said to me, “How you doin’?”

“How am I doin’?” I asked the man. “How you doin’?”

“I just got shot.”

By then, other people were there, trying to help. Someone put a towel under his head. Someone called 911. I heard the sirens nearing. I’d seen my share of gunshot wounds, and I knew this wasn’t life-threatening, so I went on my way.

It was nearly noon, and since I was nearby, I decided to go to Langer’s Delicatessen, renowned for its pastrami sandwich. I was about to turn off my car when a song came on the radio that grabbed me. I recognized the lyrics: “Just a little lovin’, early in the morning.” I’d heard the famous Dusty Springfield version of the song, “Just a Little Lovin’,” written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, many times before and liked it. But this was not Dusty’s version. It was smoky and jazzy and extraordinarily uplifting.

So I sat and listened to the whole song, to relish it and find out who was singing. The D.J. came on and said it was Sarah Vaughan. Especially after seeing a man wounded in the street, I felt my spirits raised by the song. I went to Langer’s and had a No. 10, pastrami and Swiss with Russian dressing. Then afterward I called the radio station, but the person I talked to said he didn’t know what album it was on. Maybe a week later, I went to Tower Records on Sunset. It had several Sarah albums, but none of them had that song.

Years passed. I kind of forgot about it. But every now and then I would pass a record store and take a look. Never found it. More years went by. In 2006, I went online and found some Sarah Vaughan sites. Nothing. Amazon had hundreds of her recordings but not the one I was looking for. I posted a message on some online jazz board. I got a few responses from people saying they couldn’t find it, either. Some people made suggestions, but they didn’t pan out. And that was the last I thought about it.

Until a few weeks ago, when I found a small padded package in my mailbox. Inside was a CD with the recording of Sarah Vaughan singing “Just a Little Lovin’.” It was wrapped in a sheet of paper with some typed production info. The song is from the 1972 album “Feelin’ Good” (which, it turns out, became available online a couple of years ago). And there was a handwritten note from a man named Jerry in Amherst, Mass., that said, “Enjoy!”

I was flabbergasted. Immediately, I loaded it into the CD player in my bedroom. I was actually a little nervous. Would it sound as good as I remembered? It had been more than 10 years, and maybe I had built it up to legendary status when it was merely excellent. After all, discovery is usually a greater thrill than confirmation. I pushed play.

Oh, sweet Sarah. From the very opening notes of the piano and her first vocals, the song was just as I remembered it. I played it five times, slowly dancing around my room. I couldn’t wait to thank this guy Jerry, so I got his number from 411. “I’m glad you got it,” he said.

Then, five days after that, I got an e-mail message from someone going by EAllen4787: I hope this e-mail address is still operative for you. This address was taken from a [2006] post. I, too, have been searching for a copy of Sarah Vaughan’s version of “Just a Little Lovin’.” I used to hear it from an album that we played in graduate school at Purdue that was owned by a fellow student in 1974-1976.

I wrote back right away and told him the story — that I’d just gotten the recording in the mail out of the blue — and that I’d send him a copy. He wrote back: Thank you so much. Thank God for this Internet. This is the best find by far I have ever made on the Internet. So I had my girlfriend’s son, Oliver, burn me a CD, and I sent it out to EAllen4787.

It has been a little while now, and I still play the song every day, usually in the morning. I love the piano and Sarah’s voice. But now it’s more than just a song. It makes me think of the gift I got from a complete stranger, this Jerry guy, and how good it made me feel to reach out to someone else and ask for nothing in return. And it makes me think about that guy who was shot who asked me how I was doing. I hope he’s alive and well, and I wish I could send him the song.

Michael Krikorian has written for The Los Angeles Times and LA Weekly. He last wrote for the magazine about visiting his namesake at the Men’s Central Jail in Los Angeles.

42 YEARS AGO, DEC. 15, 1979, RAYMOND WASHINGTON, FOUNDER OF THE CRIPS, WAS SHOT AND KILLED

This article below about Raymond Washington appeared in the L.A. Weekly back in 2005  days after Stanley "Tookie" Williams was put to death in San Quentin. A movie about his life is said to be in the works.

On The Trail Of The Real Founder Of The Crips

By Michael Krikorian , Dec 15 2005

The founder of the Crips was not lethally injected minutes after midnight Tuesday morning in the sterilized death chamber of San Quentin State Prison. There was no news of his death. There were no Oscar winners or rap stars urging that his life continue. Fifty-year-old white women in $5 million Hancock Park homes did not ponder the gang leader’s fate in his final days. No bums pushing shopping carts on Sunset and Vine had opinions on whether a governor should spare him from a state-inflicted death.

No, the founder of the Crips was gut-shot with a sawed-off on a dreary South Los Angeles corner 26 (now 42) years ago.Contrary to popular assumption, Sranley "Tookie" Williams, who was fatally injected Tuesday morning and pronounced dead at 12:35 a.m., was not the founder or even the co-founder of the Crips. The undisputed father of the notorious black street gang was one Raymond Washington, a mighty 5-foot-8 fireplug who loved to fight and loathed guns. He was killed at age 26 by a shotgun blast — allegedly by someone he knew — on the corner of 64th and San Pedro streets on August 9, 1979.

There was no mention of his death in the Los Angeles Times or any other major newspaper as there was of the death of Williams. But on the hardcore streets of South-Central Los Angeles, Watts and Compton, the slaying of Washington was akin to a presidential assassination.

“All this talk lately about Tookie, we was wondering when someone was gonna finally tell the real story about the Crips, tell the story of Raymond,” said Debra Addie Smith,  who knew the gang leader back in the early and mid-1970s.Raymond Washington was born in Texas, but grew up on 76th Street near Wadsworth Avenue, just west of Central Avenue.

“Raymond was a good kid when he was a boy,” said his mother, Violet Barton, who now lives in Phoenix. “Raymond didn’t go out of his way to fight or do anything bad, but if someone came to him, he would protect himself. And he was well-built. He tried to protect the community and keep the bad guys out. But after a while, every time I looked up, the police were coming to the house looking for Raymond.”

Others on 76th Street, a well-kept block of small single-family homes that is now more Latino than African-American, said that while Raymond protected the boys and girls from bullies from other neighborhoods, he bullied them himself.

“I don’t have a whole lot of good to say about Raymond,” said Lorrie Griffin Moss, 48, with a laugh. She grew up directly across the street from Washington on 76th Street, just west of Wadsworth. “Raymond was a bully. A muscular bully. He wouldn’t let anybody from outside our neighborhood bother us. He would bother us. Raymond could be very mean.”

Washington was known as a great street fighter.“Raymond could really toss ’em,” said Los Angeles Police Department Detective Wayne Caffey, referring to Washington’s fist skills as a street fighter. Caffey’s cousin attended Fremont High School, where Washington was occasionally schooled when he wasn’t kicked out for fighting. “He was an awesome football player, but he didn’t want to play organized ball. He wanted to be a knucklehead.”

Raymond, Caffey said, deplored guns and considered those who brought guns to a fight to be punks.

Washington — who had three older brothers — was a street legend, especially to his one younger brother.

“He was real, real good with his hands. He could bring it from the shoulders. Like Mike Tyson  in his prime,” said Derard Barton, 46, who added that his brother had 18-inch arms and a 50-inch chest. “He weighed abut 215. All muscle. I never saw my brother lose a fight, except to my older brothers when he was real young. But when he got older, he could even take them.”

Even youths miles away from Washington’s 76th Street neighborhood remember him.“I remember that Raymond Washington was a hog,” said Ronald “Kartoon” Antwine, a community activist from Watts who remembers seeing the Crips founder at the Watts Summer Festival. “By hog, I mean Raymond would take his shirt off and fight his ass off all day long.”

Washington was kicked out of every school he ever attended for fighting. He would go away to juvenile detention camps and be sure to let everyone know when he was back in the neighborhood, said Griffin Moss.“He’d go away for a few months, and when he came back, he come up to my dad and mom and say, “Hey, Mr. Griffin, I’m back. Hello, Mrs. Griffin. I’m back.”

His younger brother remembers Raymond fondly and proudly.“He was like a Robin Hood type a person, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor,” said Derard Barton from his home in Phoenix. 

Washington admired the Black Panthers and tried for a while to emulate them as a youth. He eventually joined the local gang called the Avenues led by a youth named Craig Munson. He later left the Avenues after “he kicked Craig Munson’s brother’s ass,” according to Detective Caffey.He started his own gang.

The origin of the name Crips has many tales, has become folklore. Some, including Tookie, have said the name came from Raymond’s gang the Baby Avenues, which became the Avenue Cribs. In a drunken state, Cribs mispronounced their name into Crips.

However, Washington’s brother and Griffin Moss say the name simply came from an injury that one of Raymond’s older brothers incurred.“My older brother Reggie was kind of bowlegged, and then he twisted his ankle bad one time, and he was walking with a limp, so he put “Crip” on his Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars and Raymond took the name,” said younger brother Derard.

As for Raymond’s nickname, he was sometimes referred to as Ray Ray — as many Rays are for some reason — but mainly he was just called Raymond.“Raymond didn’t need a nickname,” said Derard Barton.

Barton said being the younger brother of the founder of the Crips had some benefits.“Sometimes I would get into fights, but once people knew I was Raymond Washington’s brother, they were the nicest people in the world to me,” said Barton, who works at a hospital for disabled people as a behavioral health technician. “Plus, no one ever broke into our house. He was really a goodhearted person. He was really kind to elderly people. He liked to fight, yeah, but if he liked you, he’d treat you so well. If he didn’t like you, he would hate you.”

Raymond had a simple and very effective tactic of expanding the Crips.“He would go to the leader of another gang and fight him,” said Derard Barton. “He went straight to their main man. Once he put the guy on his back, everyone else would join up and follow him.”

Said Detective Caffey: “He went to other neighborhoods and said, ‘Either join me or become my enemy.’  

Most kids living on the edge of thuggery joined. Some did not. Those that were fighters, who were not intimidated, kept to their own gangs.

Eventually, the pressure of the Crips became so intense, so bloody, that the other gangs — the Piru in Compton and the Brims near USC — aligned themselves into a loosely knit gang group called the Bloods. The Swans and Bounty Hunters also signed on with the Bloods alliance. And the bloody battle of South Los Angeles, Watts and Compton was on.

Although inspired by the Black Panthers, Washington and his group never were able to develop an agenda for social change within the community. Early big-shot members included Mack Thomas of the original Compton Crips, Michael “Shaft” Concepcion, Jimel “Godfather” Barnes, Greg “Batman” Davis and Stanley Tookie Williams.


Williams, of course, gained international infamy as his death sentence gained unprecedented publicity. Legend has it that Washington approached Williams to expand his gang to the west side of the Harbor Freeway and Williams became a leader of the Westside Crips.

“It’s just wrong to say Tookie was the founder of the Crips,” said Wes McBride, president of the California Gang Investigators Association.

Moss also remembers Tookie Williams coming by all the time to visit Raymond. “He’d be walking down the street looking like the Pirelli man,” she said. Still, though Williams was killed by the state Tuesday morning and referred to himself as the co-founder of the Crips, many say Raymond Washington is being forgotten.

Many young wannabes calling themselves Crips these days don't even know who Raymond Washington was. It would be like a young Dodger prospect not knowing who was Sandy Koufax.

Back in the 1970s, as the Crips became more deadly and infamous for robbing youths of their black leather jackets and drive-by shootings, Raymond started to become disillusioned with the gang he founded.


“He started running with a black motorcycle goup,” said retired Los Angeles County Sheriff’s gang investigator Curtis Jackson. “I think he felt that the youngsters were getting too crazy, getting totally out of control.“My interaction with Raymond was minimal, but he was very approachable,” said Jackson. “I had no trouble talking with him. Most gang members are actually very personable, and I’ve never had any trouble rapping with them. Tookie was an exception, as he always had a few thugs around him, so he always had an attitude.”

On the bleak corner of 64th Street and San Pedro is a drab pink, two-story apartment building — 6326 S. San Pedro St. — complete with runaway weeds, peeling paint, three rusty barbecues and a large cart labeled Rick’s Hot Dogs, all nestled against a ratty chain-link fence.

It was here on an August night in 1979 that Raymond Washington was blown away by a blast from a sawed-off shotgun. Someone inside a car had called out his name, and Washington walked over. The pellets tore into his guts, and he was rushed away to a hospital, where he died.

It was the end of the founder of the Crips, and it was the beginning of the end of the Crips as a united gang.

Though no one was ever arrested, rumors spread — erroneously — that the Hoover Crips (now Hoover Criminals) were responsible. Shootings broke out between Raymond’s Eastside Crips — now known as the East Coast Crips — and the Hoovers.

Right around then, feud broke out between the Rollin’ 60s Crips and the Eight Trey Gangster Crips, and shootings erupted between those large and extremely violent Crips factions. Other Crip sets chose sides, and Crips have been killing Crips ever since then. More even than Crips kill Bloods or Bloods kill Crips.

As much as he relished a good fistfight, Raymond would be sad and disappointed to see what havoc was wreaked on the gang he founded. Rare is the time when two guys meet in an alley or park anymore and “toss ’em.” The days of bringing it from the shoulders were coming to an end, and the days of bringing it from the holster were the way it would be.

 

The Bad Ass Peacemakers of Nickerson Gardens

Tending the Gardens

On a recent evening outside the gym at Nickerson Gardens in Watts, a boom box fills the air with the sounds of a jazz flutist. Big Hank Henderson walks over to his GMC Yukon with the shiny 24-inch rims and pulls out one of his jazz compilations. He tells the boom-box man to put on the Les McCann–and–Eddie Harris cut “The Generation Gap.” It’s a fitting jam.

For two decades, Big Hank Henderson, 49, and his ace partner Big Donny Joubert, 46, both raised in the projects, have been reaching out to a younger generation of youth and young men in Watts, urging them to avoid gang violence, stay in school and pursue their dreams. Naturally, in this rough neighborhood, they have been through many heartbreaking disappointments and countless funerals, but without these two powerful men, the situation would be far worse.

“We all about Watts, period. Not just Nickerson Gardens, but all of Watts,” says Joubert, sitting on a folding chair in front of the gym’s entrance. “All these guys and girls deserve to graduate and be all they can be. Gang violence is a disease.”

“To me, Donny and Hank are community heroes,” says Sheldon Cruz, policy administrator for Los Angeles’ Human Relations Committee. “They do all this work to help the community and they do it for free on their own time.”

Cruz recalls how back in 2003, when he came to Nickerson Gardens, the relationship between the project and the LAPD was very low. “Hank and Donny helped rebuild a rapport with the LAPD,” Cruz says.

In March, the LAPD’s Southeast Division, which patrols Watts, played a basketball game in the Nickerson Gardens gym against a team from the projects. Ten years ago, that would have been unheard of.

“I can vouch for Hank and Donny that they are doing a great job,” says the LAPD’s Jerome Walker, of Southeast Division.

Congresswoman Janice Hahn, whose was the councilwoman for L.A.'s 15 District includes Watts, often dealt with the peacemakers.

“They can calm things down because they have the respect of everybody in the neighborhood,” says Hahn. “Hank and Donny are making a big difference.”

“If more urban neighborhoods had individuals like Donny and Hank, who selflessly work toward providing a better place for young people to grow up and achieve their goals,” says Gregory Thomas, a community interventionist who is also devoted to ending the violence, “then Los Angeles would be a better place for all of us to live in.”

Henderson and Joubert come to their maintenance-department jobs at the projects at 7:30 a.m. and get off at 4:30 p.m. Then, after working out on a bench press and a speed bag, they hang out around the gym, offering advice, refereeing games, breaking up an occasional fight and just making sure things are calm. They usually leave around 9:30 p.m. But that doesn’t mean their day is done.

“It never ends,” says Henderson, a man of few words who normally stays out of the spotlight. “We can be home at 1, 2, 3 in the morning and get a phone call that there’s some trouble, and we are right back here.”

Both Henderson and Joubert are quick to point out that they are not alone in their quest to keep the peace. There are many others involved. One of them is Dameian Hartfield.

“To put it simply,” Hartfield says, “they do way more than the average person to help the community in a positive way.”

For all the nice words that everyone says about them, what the two could really use is some help.

“We can’t do this alone. This is a huge problem,” Joubert says. “Get us some computer programs. Some afterschool programs. When you have nothing to fall back on, what are you gonna do? You are going to get in trouble.”

When Henderson’s jazz CD plays out, the boom-box man walks it back to him. Henderson tells Boom Box to put the CD back in his Yukon.

“But keep your hands where I can see them,” Henderson says, smiling just a bit.

On his way back, Boom Box says, “When I get my Caddy, I ain’t even gonna let you sit in the front seat.”

Joubert chimes in, “That’s okay. Hank rather be in the back seat anyway.”

 

Big Donny up front, Big Hank scooping 

Big Donny up front, Big Hank scooping 

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