The Ignominious Death of The "I'm Blessed Man"

Whenever Stella Hancock asked a disheveled man walking along 112th Street in Watts how he was doing, he would always reply "I'm blessed." 

Friday night, the "I'm Blessed Man" was stabbed to death at Evers Avenue and 112th, near the northeast boundary of Nickerson Gardens.

I've covered with care scores of homicides in Watts, but something about this one struck me in a different way when I looked into it Saturday morning. I guess it was because nobody I talked to knew him, nobody seemed all that sad or shocked to learn someone had been killed nearby, nobody even seemed to care much. And all that is extremely uncharacteristic of this community. 

Hancock, long-time Nickerson resident who now lives across the street from the infamous projects, came home around 7:20 Friday night to see a face-down man who she believed to be sleeping, his body slumped half on her lawn up against a chain-link fence, half on the sidewalk.

"I told him 'You can't stay here', but he didn't respond," said Hancock. So, her friend nudged him. "She said he was cold. We called 911."

Two, three minutes later, the paramedics arrived, and took the man away.  

An hour or so later, 12 miles north, I was with my friend - and LAPD homicide detective - Sal LaBarbera when he got a text there had been a killing in Watts Where?, I asked. He checked. 1500 East 112th Street. "That's the Nickersons,"  I said. Sal checked further and learned it had been a stabbing, which is rare, and the victim was apparently an "old man". I figured I check it tomorrow.

I did. Intriguingly, outside the Nickerson Gardens  gym, Mission Control of the projects, nobody knew who the dead guy was. When I later told some friends that Stella Hancock said he always said "I'm blessed', Big Hank, legend, said "Smoker. Crack head. They always say that. 'I'm blessed'. I guess all the shit they've been though and if they are still standing they think they are blessed."

A little while later, I headed by back home. on the Harbor Freeway listening to a John Coltrane CD I had brought in the morning. Track 12 came on. I had never heard it, "Dear Lord." It was achingly beautiful and it made me think of the "I'm Blessed Man."

Who was he? I thought about Harry Bosch.."Everybody counts or nobody counts." Last night, Det LaBarbera found out the dead man's name, Samuel Benton He was 63. i'm gonna find out who Sammy Benton was.

 

 .

 

 

 

A Gay Leader Emerges In A Watts Housing Project

Deshawn Cole came out at Watts' Imperial Courts project, blazing an inner-city trail

By Michael KrikorianThursday, Apr 4 2013

Asked if being poor, black and gay hurt him at the start of his career, author James Baldwin famously replied that his situation "was so outrageous ... you had to find a way to use it." Deshawn Cole knows outrageous and he, too, is trying to make the most of being a young, gay, black man — at Imperial Courts public housing project in Watts, where coming out has long been scorned as a manhood wasted.

"Early on I knew I was different," says Cole, 23, who lives at the project and works in its on-site recreation center for the Los Angeles Department of Recreation and Parks. "I was always a leader. ... When I saw someone who was outspoken or different, they had to be in my circle."  

As a teen, Cole says, "I know I confused people — it was fun. It was, like, 'This guy is doing cheerleading — gay. But he's playing football and fighting — can't be gay.' "

Gallup poll data show that 3.6 percent of blacks identify themselves as lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender, as do 3.5 percent of all Americans. But against the backdrop of the recent U.S. Supreme Court hearings on same-sex marriage, there's still a strong anti-gay taboo in many inner-city communities. Pew Research Center found that while Latino support for gay marriage has surged to 59 percent, the longtime low support by blacks for gay marriage has edged up to just 38 percent. In 2008, many Latinos and blacks voted in favor of Proposition 8 to ban same-sex marriage.

At Imperial Courts, which gained infamy as a violent bastion of the Project Watts Crips (PJs) gang, Cole, who supports gay marriage, is said by many to be the first boy to live openly as a homosexual. His mother, Cynthia Mendenhall, says, "De­shawn wasn't the first gay person in the Courts, but he was the first one to really be proud of it and come out" about a decade ago.

Cole sees attitudes — even among many PJs — finally changing. Subjected as a youth to countless sexual slurs — Cole estimates that "back in the day" he was called "faggot" several thousand times — he pushed back as a student at Ritter Elementary School and Markham Middle School, jumping into fistfights and finally revealing his sexuality to his disapproving father.

Cole has become a respected community figure whose principles have earned him an unusual form of street cred: tough, kind-hearted — and out.

Imperial Courts resident Ruben Quintana, 25, calls Cole "part of the reason things are changing around here." Quintana, who is straight, says, "In a way, he's like a leader in the gay rights movement the way people were leaders in the civil rights movement."

Mendenhall, known as "Sista," a former PJ Crip–turned–gang interventionist and member of the Watts Gang Task Force, explains, "He's been a mentor to a lot of young people, both straight and gay." When her son was small, "Lots of people told me he's just confused," she recalls. "They said it was a devil. They told me to pray our way out of this. They thought they meant well."

In 2007 Cole graduated from Compton's Dominguez High School and completed a certified course at Marinello Schools of Beauty in Paramount. He still loves to "do hair" — his own, when straightened, flows in a ponytail to his midback. But last year, he found a rewarding calling as a recreational aide at Imperial Courts Recreation Center, where he had long volunteered.

"He's a major asset to Imperial Courts," says Alea Douglas, a Rec & Parks coordinator. "He's talented, he's creative, he's dedicated and he's a team player. The kids here are lucky to have him."

Many who live in the 490-unit housing project, which is calmer than it once was, admire Cole. One day, as he discusses plans for the Dynasty Imperial High Kickers Drill Team and Drum Squad that he coaches at the recreation center, a little Latino girl arcing on a nearby swing calls out: "Deshawn! Deshawn! You know my eighth birthday is coming up, right?"

"Happy birthday, girl. When is it?" She gives him the date — it's more than five weeks away. "OK. We'll have a party."

When Cole was a student at troubled Markham Middle School, which sits almost in the bull's-eye of Imperial Courts and its rival projects, Jordan Downs and Nickerson Gardens, he remembers "fighting on two fronts," one over gang turf, the other over his sexual orientation. (Cole's brothers Tony and Darrian, both PJs, died violently.)

His mother recalls, "Security guards, some teachers, they would say in a low-key way it was his fault" that other students harassed him. "Like, 'Why does he have to dress that way?' or 'He's asking for it being like that.' But I never gave up on supporting his dreams."

Cole lived in particular anguish over what his strict, military-bearing father thought. "What father wants a gay boy?" Cole asks. "Do you think when a wife is pregnant, the husband says, 'I hope he turns out gay?' "

His father, Dwight Cole, 54, is stout and muscular, a no-nonsense, retired National Guard veteran. "Look, I felt he was gay, but I wanted him to tell me," his father says. "Everybody kept telling me, but I wanted him to tell me."

Once Deshawn did tell his father, Dwight Cole informed him that he could not join drill team or engage in other nontraditional activities. "I ain't gonna lie. It hurt," he says. "You want your boys to have kids. Carry on the name. Any father wants that. Even if your daughter is gay, you want her to have kids. That's just the way it is. But I love Deshawn."

In Watts, respect is vital. In Imperial Courts, a lot of that respect must come from the PJs. Cole is not an active gang member, but he acknowledges, "Just by living in the projects, you're already from the gang. So you might as well say, 'I'm from PJs.' "

It was Deshawn's fistfight in 2004 or 2005 with his brother Darrian that convinced many local toughs to grudgingly accept a gay youth in the hood.

As Dwight Cole explains, he'd told Darrian, " 'This is not your life. If your brother is gay, he's gay.' ... But Darrian wouldn't accept him." Darrian often belittled Deshawn, saying he was going to "beat the gayness" out of him. His dad finally told Deshawn "he was going to have to fight Darrian to get his respect." Cole decided his father was right. "I stepped up for myself. A 'faggot' is a sissy boy. I'm a gay boy — I'd step up to them."

Their wild fistfight "tore up the house," says his father. "But in the end, Deshawn had whipped him out of the house."

That violent episode is partly how Cole won respect at Imperial Courts. But, just as importantly, he freely embraced others. Close friend Paul Cook says that without Cole, he wouldn't be out of the closet. "He helped pave the way for me in terms of being gay," says Cook, whom Cole teases with the nickname "Paulette, my daughter."

There are still misconceptions and anti-gay sentiment in Watts. One area resident, admired by some for his knockout punch, explained toL.A. Weekly: "In the body there are male hormones and female hormones. In Deshawn's body it was like they had a war, the male hormones against the females hormones, and the bitches won."

Told of this theory, Cole starts laughing.

Another prominent Watts figure wondered: "Was he born this way or did he get 'turned out?' " — implying Cole was changed by a sexual attack. That gets a "Stupid" response from Cole.

Imperial Courts is seen by many as a gang-infested hellhole, a vast concrete corral one step up from homelessness for single mothers and unemployed men who hang out on corners to drink and sell drugs.

Some of that can be found at Imperial Courts. But what also is found there is a keen sense of community that's stronger than in the vast majority of L.A. neighborhoods.

One March evening, Deshawn Cole and Cynthia Mendenhall linger for more than an hour on a sidewalk in the heart of the project, saying, "Hi, baby" and "What up, boo" to about 60 neighbors who pass by.

Cole's mother explains, "It wasn't at all acceptable until Deshawn came out." But even as she speaks, several young people near the recreation center start yelling at an effeminate young man, shouting "Bitch!" and "You look like a girl!"

"Hear that?" Mendenhall asks. "That boy is gay, and he dresses and acts just like a woman. ... So they giving him a hard time. Deshawn tries to mentor him. Let him know he can't be too, what's the word —  flamboyant — around here."

For all that's changing, she says, "What we need is a gay and lesbian center right here in Watts. ... People in Watts, South Central and Compton, they need somewhere to go if they need counseling. They shouldn't have to go all the way to Hollywood. Hollywood needs to come here."

DeShawn Cole.jpg

Handcuffed at Nancy's House, Alas, Not By Her

'Freeze! Put your hands up!' Oh, sorry 

At home, watching TV -- then an erroneous 911 call leads to a brief, tense encounter with the LAPD.

Los Angeles Times Op/Ed September 09, 2009 by Michael Krikorian

I was at my girlfriend Nancy's home in Hancock Park. She was out with a friend, and her 15-year-old son, Oliver, and I had just finished eating our superb 10:30 p.m. dinner -- al pastor tacos from the truck on 3rd Street and Normandie. He had gone upstairs to go to bed. The next day would be the first day of school after summer vacation.

I was watching a recorded episode of "Entourage" when Zeke, our golden retriever mix, got up and looked out the thick wood-and-glass front door. Now, this dog barks like an Akita on angel dust, wailing plaintively when anybody comes up the sidewalk, unless its family. So I thought it must be Nancy.

I looked out the front door and noticed a spotlight on our yard. I heard a helicopter. I opened the door, went out to investigate and closed the door so Zeke wouldn't get out.

"Freeze!"

"Put your hands up!" yelled another voice. "Put your hands up over your head. Now!"

I turned in the direction of the voices and said, "Are you talking to me?" I actually said that. And I meant it. Were they talking to me? Yes.

"Put your hands over your head!"

I did.

"Lock your fingers on top of your head."

I did. I couldn't really see them because the bright flashlights nearly blinded me, but it had to be the cops.

"Turn and face the door." I did, and then I had a frightful thought. Maybe it's not the police. Maybe it's some elaborate plan by a street gang to kill me. I have reported on street gangs for more than a decade and amassed a deadly share of enemies. I took a quick look at the invaders and could see they had police uniforms. No gang I ever reported on would go to that much trouble to kill me.

"Turn around and start backing toward me."

I marveled at how calm I was. I thought, "Just do as they say." Just do as they say. We all have heard stories in which the guy resists and gets roughed up or worse.

I backed down the three steps of the porch to the driveway, where I bumped into Nancy's car, parked with the top down. I got a closer look at the gendarmes: five uniformed LAPD officers with guns at the ready, including a policewoman who sadly bore no resemblance to Angie Dickinson in her TV cop days. Pepper Anderson could cuff me all night. The most impressive thing about this policewoman was the pump shotgun she was holding.

I hoped Roger, our next-door neighbor, had a video camera and was watching. This could go Rodney.

I was led next to the giant ficus tree in Roger's frontyard and was tightly handcuffed. Well, the cuffs weren't overly tight. I've been in overly tight cuffs in the past.

And that is why I wasn't all that upset, why I was so calm. Every other time in my life that I had been handcuffed -- and there have been several -- I was guilty of something. Here, I knew I had done nothing wrong. Not unless I was unaware that buying tacos at the truck on 3rd and Normandie was some sort of felony now.

"Spread your legs!" I did. "Wider." I did. "Do you have a weapon?" No. I was frisked.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here. What's going on?" I asked. No answer.

It was like I had a good view of that bad show, "Cops."

There were three cops, guns still drawn, on the front porch, yelling and scrambling about as if John Dillinger were in the house. I told them Oliver was the only person at home and asked if they could call the house and let me speak to him so he wouldn't freak out. They called; he finally answered, and they talked to him.

After a few minutes, he came out. I yelled at the police -- for the first time -- to put their guns down. Oliver looked stunned.

He later told me his first thought was: "What did Michael do?" He had heard all the commotion but thought it was some TV show I was watching.

Finally, after what seemed liked an hour -- but was really about 10 to 12 minutes -- the cops were informed via radio that they had received the wrong street address. A woman down the block had heard a bang at her back door, thought someone was breaking in and called 911 to report it. In her panic, she reversed the last two numbers of the address. She gave them my address. So the cops were waiting to storm the house when I walked out to see what was going on. (The next day, the woman apologized profusely to me.)

A second policewoman, Officer Solley -- not the shotgun wielder -- was fairly pleasant. She apologized and kept saying, "You understand what happened and why it happened, right?"

Yeah, sure. You all messed up.

But I also thought about all the black friends of mine who have been stopped and harassed over the years for doing nothing wrong at all. This is what it was like. Being in the wrong place. In this case, at home. I was angry, but not outraged. I wondered how many people got handcuffed for nothing at Nickerson Gardens over the years? How many at Jordan Downs? Then Oliver said, "At least I'll have a good story to tell for 'what I did on my summer vacation.' "

As for Zeke, who barks furiously at the mailman, the gardener, the walkers, the joggers, even other dogs like they are all aliens from "District 9" -- but was quiet as Marcel Marceau in my hour of need -- well, let's just say that porterhouse bone I got for him is going to stay in the freezer for a while. I might even heat it up and gnaw on it while he watches.

Like just about everything in life, it could have been a whole lot worse. Oliver told his mother the story when she came home 20 minutes later, adding his what-could-have-happened, worst-case scenario.

"You know how you yell at Zeke when he barks a lot? How about if you were cutting a bagel in half and walked outside to see what was going on, and you had the knife in your hand and were yelling to Zeke 'Shut up!' " Only he suggested I might have added a four-letter word as I shouted.

I guess if that had happened, you would have heard all about this on the news already. Maybe the president will have me and that shotgun lady cop over for a beer at the White House.

###

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

http://articles.latimes.com/print/2009/sep/09/opinion/oe-krikorian9

40 Ounces Are Missing; My Eating Life With Nancy and Ruth

This week I lost two and a half pounds. Not those easy water pounds that leak out, but entrenched, tenacious, no-surrender ounces that died struggling to the end, every single one of them pleading with me to let them stay just one more day and then they'd go peacefully. Liars.

Losing a couple pounds plus - 40 ounces - is usually not worth mentioning, but, the thing here is I lost that weight living with Nancy Silverton and Ruth Riechl. 

I lost that weight living with Nancy, a woman who, as the midnight hour nears, urges me to go to the kitchen of PIzzeria Mozza and have staff pizza "so you won't complain there's nothing to eat when we get home."

I lost that weight living with Ruth. who buys me $11 pints of Portland's Salt & Straw ice cream in pairs, so when I open the freezer - as I do 20 times a day minimum - the first thing I sight is a red and white-topped container that tempts with the words "Sea Salt Ice Cream with Caramel Ribbon".

I lost those 40 ounces living with a woman who calls five days a week, 20 minutes past noon, telling me "staff meal today is chicken thighs" , which she knows is one of my 40 weaknesses.. I could be in the "Folsom Lot" at the Nickersons, but that call beckons me north.  

I lost that kilo living with Ruth, a woman who has Churchill Orchard's Fed Ex 10 pounds of Kishu Mandarins (What I call "li'l tangerines") to the house. Tangerines, you say, aren't fattening. Even if you eat 15 a day? Ain't those things loaded up with sugar? Tastes like it.

I lost that deuce and a half  with reminders of food scattered about the house like Fruit Town crack dealers saying "psssst" in a Cherry Street alley. An advance copy of Ruth's upcoming novel, "Delicious!",  rests on the living room table surrounded by the latest issues of food magazines.  A Zip Lock of almond toffee our friend Ellen made lays in wait by the kitchen sink. Three gold-wrapped packages of Rudolphe Le Meunier's butter  - sent UPS to the house by Josiah Citrin - are on display in a see-through compartment of the frig door. 

I lost those 40 ounces trying out flour and corn tortillas across East Los and Boyle Heights for a party Sunday where the star guests were four nine-hour low-temped pork shoulders and a barrel of beans with bacon.

Yeah, I lost that weight. But, how? Man, I don't even know. But, thanks to Nancy and Ruth. I'm pretty sure I'll find them real soon. 

Nancy and Ruth by fire.jpeg


New Chefs Tired of Same Old "Top Restaurants in USA" Lists

Accustomed to always seeing the French Laundry in Yountville, La Azteca Tortilleria in East Los Angeles and Alinea in Chicago on the lists of America's greatest restaurants., some new breed chefs are calling for a guidebook that will focus on dining establishments under three years old. 

"La Azteca, the French Laundry, Alinea Terra, Le Bernardin, Quince, Del Posto these places are great, but everyone knows that, so they end up just taking up space on these lists of America's best restaurants, " said William "Change Only " Penderson, whose eponymous bistro just outside of Kalamazoo has garnered raves reviews, but no national attention.  "Give the new guys some recognition."

Penderson, and many other chefs applaud the efforts of Food  & Wine's "10 Best New Chefs" issue, but complain, probably out of jealously, that the same "supper" stars are in every issue of every food magazine  

"You pick up any food magazine and chances are the Villa family from La Azteca in East L.A., or Thomas Keller and one of his chefs from the French Laundry or Per Se, or some Joel Robuchon alumni will be featured," said Cardella "Backpack" Brown, whose "Juicy Rumps" in Camden, NJ, is considered the   "Hood " restaurant in the country.  

"I love those places, I do. Last week I finally got into La Azteca and it was fantastic," Backpack Brown said. "I had the best - and simpliest - carne asada burrito on the best flour tortilla I have ever eaten.  Five bucks and 50 cent! And a chile relleno that made me see the importance of the New Relleno Movement. Daughter Cynthia is charming the front of the house, son Chris, too. Mom Candy and dad Juan in the kitchen cooking. Like the first time i went to the French Laundry, it lived up to the hype. but everybody knows La Azteca is great.  Let some us newcomers get in on the sunshine."

###

The French Laundry is at 6640 Washington Street, Yountville, California. 94599 (707) 944-2380. Call for hours. Drive-through on Friday and Saturday nights only. 

La Azteca Tortilleria is at 4538 E. Cesar Chavez Ave., Los Angeles, Calif. 90022 ( 323) 262-5977. Open Tuesday - Sunday 6 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.. 

Alinea is at 1723 N. Halsted Street, Chicago, Ill. 60614 (312) 867-0110 Call for hours. Red, purple, blue and orange hoodies not allowed.

Terra is at 1345 Railroad Ave., St Helena, Calif.  94574  (707) 963-8931. Diners ordering bone-in steaks Must claim bone before owner Lissa Doumani does.

Change Only is at 321 W. Dickman Road, Battle Creek Michigan. No phone. Restaurant does not accept credit cards, dollar bills or wrapped coins. Loose change only.

Juicy Rumps is at 89 Main Street Camden, New Jersey. Open 24 hours. No phone  

Main dining room of La Azteca, 

Main dining room of La Azteca, 

Portland's Salt & Straw Ice Cream Victorious at The Forum

"We now go LIVE to The Forum in Inglewood where Martell "Three Scoops" Hauser is standing by with breaking news on tonight's big showdown between two of the West Coast's top ice creams. Three Scoops?"

Cut To: Martell Hauser standing in front of The Forum.

"Walter, the battle between "The Portland Punisher", Salt & Straw's Sea Salt Ice Cream with Caramel Ribbon against Sweet Rose Creamery's Salted Caramel was billed as the first big match of 2014, but, in the end. the Punisher lived up to his name, besting the Los Angeles contender in  several key categories, including caramel explosiveness, temptation. depth of flavor, saltiness and balance. A tour de force for Salt and Straw."

Cut to a Close Up : A fork going into the pint of S & S, Portland's much-heralded, now-nationally acclaimed ice cream, slowly twirling amid the caramel ripple and pulling out a white and gold-veined mound of lusciousness.

Hauser, Voice Over - "It was a masterful performance by the Portland ice cream company which started in 2011 by cousins Kim and Tyler Malek.  The popular Sweet Rose came out to the wild cheers of locals. but it was clear early on. that, as fine an ice cream as she is, the Punisher was too much."

Cut To Hauser.  He walks up to an excited - and clearly drunk -  man among the throngs exiting the Forum. "What did you think of the fight tonight?"

Fan. "Salt and Straw was overpowering. Deep flavor! You feel me? Deeeeeep!  I think he could be one of the great ones. For a packaged pint of ice cream, I think this coldsta' is going to be hard to beat. The Punisher!" 

"Hauser - "Would you like to see a dream fight with Salt & Straw's Caramel Ribbon going against Salty Peanut Butter from Pizzeria Mozza Newport Beach?"

Fan - (Suddenly, subdued, even analytical) "Yes, I would. Any ice cream fan, any gelato fan would, but, in the end, Salty is Formula One. and it wouldn't be a fair fight. But, for packaged Ice cream, i think Salty and Straw is the best thing going."

Hauser -  "I agree. Even at $11 a pint. Live from The Forum, this is Martell "Three Scoops" Hauser."

Just as the camera cuts away. a woman in a Sweet Rose Creamery T- Shirt takes a wild punch at Hauser. 

Cut To - The Studio and anchor Walter Black. "It's getting crazy at the Forum. I really do like Sweet Rose, but I'll have to get some of that Portland stuff."  

###

Salt & Straw Ice Cream  http://www.saltandstraw.com/index.php  is getable in Los Angeles at Joan's On Third"  ( http://www.joansonthird.com/ ) which is at 8350 W. 3d Street (east of La Cienega and west of Noodles Stories ) in Los Angeles.

Some of the other S & S flavors they might be lined up next to Sea Salt Ice Cream with Caramel Ribbon are Grandma Malek's Almond Brittle with Salted Ganache, Honey Balsamic Cherry with Cracked  Pepper, Chocolate with Gooey Brownies and Pear with Blue Cheese. Not that again! 

(A good house guest turn me on to S & S's Caramel Ribbon based on a tip for Sarah St. Lifer, the patron saint of prison inmates,)

Sweet Rose's newest store is at 7565 W. Beverly Boulevard, (about a mile northeast of Noodle Stories.)  http://www.sweetrosecreamery.com/   A pint here is $9.  Ryan Di Niccola, sous chef at Chi Spacca, raves about the Caramel Apple Granola (CAG) ice cream of Sweet Rose Creamery. A possible match between the CAG and the Punisher could be in the works. Many SRC loyalists were upset with the outcome tonight. But, that Sweet Rose's Salted Caramel even went one-on-one with the Punisher, that the match drew a sell out crowd at the Forum, that it was licked, even in defeat, is a statement of its goodness.  

moon ice cream .jpeg

Photo taken fro outer space of Salt and Straw's Sea Salt Ice Cream with Caramel Ribbons 

Orange Shoes May Have Led To Man's Shooting Death

"Why you got to keep wearing these shoes?" Leo Cisneros would ask his dear friend John Matthews, who had recently taken to wearing orange-trimmed Nikes. "He said they were a Christmas gift, but I told him not to wear them. You know what orange is 'round here, right?"

Orange "'round here" -- 89th and Vermont Avenue in Westmont where Matthews, 36, was shot and killed Wednesday night - is the color of the Hoover Street Criminals. Street sources suspected the shooter may have mistaken Matthews for a rival Hoover because of those orange shoes.

"People get mistaken around here all the time," said another friend of Matthews, Garry King.

Matthews, a handyman who was on his way to see his two young children, had apparently stopped to talk to a security guard at the 88th Street Temple Church of God in Christ when they where approached by a lone black man.

"The suspect walked up, said something to the two victims, then began firing," said Los Angeles County Sheriff's Lt. Dave Coleman, adding the shooting appeared to be unprovoked. Matthews was fatally wounded and the security guard was critically injured. As of early Thursday evening, no one had been arrested, but the many surveillance cameras in the area may provide detectives with valuable clues. 

After being shot, the guard, "Johnny", ran about 70 yards north into the church's parking lot before he collapsed. He was conscious and telling a church worker that he had "been hit." Thursday afternoon, a large blood stain remained in the parking lot.

"This is community here is the hottest, most dangerous in the city," said the church's pastor, Anthony Williams. "We need help."

In the bloody gutter of the sidewalk where Matthews was mortally wounded, a lone murder candle lay, smeared red.  Five feet away was the common Southside site of a makeshift memorial where, next to more - upright - murder candles, friends had placed a small. empty bottle of Hennessy cognac.

"We drank that bottle together at our Super Bowl  party," said Cisneros, smiling sadly.

"Yeah," chimed in King, "We invited all these people over for the Super Bowl, made all this food, barbequed chicken. but it was just us three at the party. It was great."

King said he had only known Matthews for two years, but they were like long-lost brothers. "When I met him, I had one of those feelings like "Where have you been?"

John and Son.jpg


"Little Miss Salty" To File Lawsuit Against Angeleno Magazine

Calling it "beyond insulting", lawyers for Butterscotch Budino said they would file a Federal "Defamation of Character" lawsuit against Angeleno Magazine’s “Modern Luxury Digital Edition” for listing the Pizzeria Mozza legend as the 67th best dish in Los Angeles. 

Adding insult to one of America’s most beloved desserts, affectionately known as “Little Miss Salty”, was that a cousin, Chi Spacca’s Tomahawk Chop, was listed #1 of the city’s 101 “Must Try Tastes” by the online edition.

"We're happy for Tomahawk Chop’s recognition,” said Budino spokesman Duke Feldmeier. “Tom’s a good dude and he’s worked hard to be a champ. And I’ll raise a glass to Chad and Ryan and the whole staff there, too. But, to list Little Miss Salty as 67th?! That’s tantamount to saying we’re overrated. That’s sum bullshit.”

Mozza owner Nancy Silverton threatened to immediately pull Little Miss Salty off both the Pizzeria and Mozza2Go menus.

“I’m not going to have the 67th best dish, or, really, the 34th worst good dish in the city on my menu,” said Silverton, who added that replicas and even straight-out copycats of her and pastry chef Dahlia Narvaez’s budino (pudding) are served at more than 185 countries worldwide, most recently Namibia, Ceylon, Burkina Faso and Arizona.

News that the “close-your-eyes” good, “ooooh”-inspiring budino would be removed from the menu sent Wall Street into a tizzy and prices soaring for the dessert. As we went to print, the price for a single order of Butterscotch Budino was $475, exorbitant for some, but well within the budget for most Angeleno subscribers.

Silverton said the only consolation was that the 65th “must try” dish was the storied #19 pastrami w/coleslaw sandwich at Langer’s Deli.  “Maybe being in the rollin 60s is the best part of the list. You feel me?”

Two of the most acclaimed restaurants in the city, Melisse and Providence faired only slightly better than Pizzeria Mozza. Melisse chef Josiah Citrin’s  rotisserie chicken (with black truffles stuffed under its skin) came in 49th and Providence chef Michael Cimarusti’s “Chowda” ( a fancy clam chowder) came in 52nd.   

(For the ranking record, the grilled octopus at Osteria Mozza was listed 39th.)

Meanwhile, at Mozza’s “Magic Kingdom” corner of Highland and Melrose, there was jubilation at Chi Spacca for Tomahawk’s number one rating. When asked what the staff did to celebrate after hearing the news, General Manager Theresa Gluck said “We got tore up. Had a blast, if i remember correctly.”

Spacca's assistant manager Kate Blue gave Gluck a hard side-five and the two yelled "We're number one!" 

On the legal front, lawyers for Little Miss Salty are expected to formally files papers Monday morning at the United States Courthouse in the Edward R. Roybal Federal Building on Temple Street.  

Spokesman Feldmeier urged fans of Butterscotch Budino to come to the courthouse and show their support. "Little Miss Sunshine's been through a lot this week," Feldmeier said. "A show of love would be much appreciated."

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Butterscotch Budino Recipe

http://www.latimes.com/food/dailydish/la-dd-butterscotch-budino-20131019,0,2464049.story#axzz2s6mXa5PT

Texted recipe of Tomahawk Chop from Chad Colby

"Double bone pork chop with all of the belly attached, Salt pepper fennel seed - grilled for 45 minutes -served mid rare with the belly chops charred through  (Easily #1)"

For a listing of the 101 dishes, try this; http://www.modernluxury.com/angeleno/digital-edition

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"Southside" Gets Outstanding Review From Mystery Scene Mag

"Michael Krikorian introduces Michael Lyons, a Sinatra-loving, hard-drinkingLos Angeles Times reporter, in his debut novel, Southside. Lyons is fearless when it comes to interacting with gangbangers. That is until he's on his way to meet with King Funeral, leader of the Hoover Criminals, one of LA's deadliest gangs. Only two blocks from City Hall a middle-aged black man steps from a car, a purple Grape Street Crips rag on his head, shotgun in hand. He shoots Lyons in broad daylight, wounding him. Within minutes the newsroom is taking bets on who shot him. He's made enemies over the years, mostly members of the street gangs he writes about, but also the husbands of women he's taken a fancy to. When the LAPD doesn't appear to be putting a lot of effort into finding Lyons' assailant, the Los Angeles Times publishes a scathing editorial. Then an audio tape surfaces of Lyons arranging his own shooting with King Funeral. His cred is gone. Embarrassed, the LA Times fires him. In order to vindicate himself-he and Funeral were only joking around, he protests-Lyons scours Southside Los Angeles to discover who shot him and why. When three seemingly unrelated killings take place, Lyons begins putting the pieces together and finds the common denominator-a shot caller named Big Evil, a prisoner at California's maximum security prison Pelican Bay.

This is a nitty-gritty, down-and-dirty story of what really goes down on the gang-ridden streets of Southside Los Angeles. Krikorian's voice is authentic. Born in LA, he's not only written gang pieces for the Los Angeles TimesandNew York Times, but has lived in gang neighborhoods. He readily admits the well-plottedSouthside is heavily autobiographical with him in the Michael Lyons role, and that many of the other characters are people he knows; he writes letters and sends books to many old acquaintances who are incarcerated. Through his gang characters-Big Evil, Terminal, Poison Rat, and Lil Mayhem among others-Krikorian brings the mean streets to life; and through their parents, he shows the grief of being incapable of saving children from the war on the streets. Southside is powerful, aside from an overabundance of minor characters, and is the first in a series of four, centering on Los Angeles. The next novel, already in the works, is Westside, to be followed by Northside andEastside."

https://mysteryscenemag.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=3399%3Asouthside&catid=26%3Abooks&Itemid=185

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