Meanwhile the truck is parked in front of the shop waiting for me. The diesel engine still running, right after my boss has checked the engine fluid and the oil.
He hands me a digital camera and for a moment, it seems like he wants me to figure out where these locations are without the use of a map. He says nothing and walks back into the office. I'm wondering if this means I'm supposed to jump in the truck and just drive away now. I haven't even had a chance to park my car in the shop so that no one breaks into it while I'm out and about.
It was for the first few minutes after I had punched in on the GPS system that I actually thought I'd have to figure out where these places in the ghetto were strictly by trial and error.
I step into the office.
He looks at me and asks if I'm familiar with the locations. I just shake my head, so he prints out a Google map with directions on it. My blood pressure returns to normal.
It was the first day of three. Three days that I was not looking forward to at all. The only thing I could think of that made things any better were the three days I had planned out for the following weekend. The Sound and Fury festival was just one week away.
But first...I had to get through this shit.
The thing about driving alone through the ghetto for the first time is wondering whether or not you're driving through an area where you're not welcome, wondering whether or not you'll be noticed...if anyone is actually paying attention to you...
I figured I'd be the only white person around -- and in most parts of South Central LA I really was the only white person around.
It's a strange feeling, but the reality begins to settle in little by little...when you realize that no one there really cares about you...or what you're doing.
I had already been familiarized with a few of the streets in Inglewood, Gardena and Compton -- but not while I was alone. My route progressively toured through parts of South Central LA that I thought I'd never see:
(Information courtesy of www.streetgangs.com)My last route:
The first several pictures I took were in some of the "safer" locations on my route.A Shell gas station at the intersection of Western and Redondo Beach in Gardena:
The Memorial Hospital of Gardena:
Slowly, I began to differentiate between what I thought were extremely poor/working class neighborhoods and the neighborhoods that appeared to be potentially dangerous.Forced to stop on the hour, I pulled over next to this Arturo's Tacos at the intersection of Gage and Avalon:
Perhaps they have good tacos...it's too bad I was on the clock.Somehow, I eventually started feeling more comfortable...probably because the more familiar I became with each intersection, the more I knew what to expect everywhere I went.
My route covered major streets running through Inglewood, Morningside Park, Westmont and Southeast Los Angeles...all of which have documented gang territories. After a few laps, the perceived ghetto nature of these neighborhoods began to blend in with the Southern California scenery. After a few laps, I might as well have been driving through Orange County...sort of.
Every once in a while I'd see a few shady looking characters, some of whom seemed far too cliche for reality. I definitely had a few favorites though. On a stretch heading west on Manchester, just before passing under the 110 freeway, I'm pretty sure I saw this guy:
Passing time was pretty easy once I lent myself to all the comedic references. Eventually, stopping to get out and take pictures at intersections like Florence and Normandie became pretty casual...
From this:
...to this -- 76 at South East corner of Florence and Normandie (given 17 years of recovery):
Mobil on North East corner of Florence and Crenshaw:
My favorite part about the last photo:
The first day was by far the most difficult. Not knowing what to expect, what I would see, where I was going...it has always been a mental obstacle for me to drive through parts of a city I've never seen before...but this was entirely different. Perhaps it was merely a case of underestimating my own survival instincts...my ability to avoid getting myself into trouble.I pictured myself missing important turns, driving down the wrong streets, getting myself lost because the map couldn't account for areas that had been closed off due to construction.
By the time I had seen my entire route I was comfortable enough to make stops just about anywhere to take pictures. Well...maybe not anywhere.
The second day of my route was probably the most fun...if I can actually call it that. I had all of my stops planned before I even got in the truck. It was on the second day that I saw the most white people, two of which were gingers...which really threw me off.
Somewhere between all the raging police sirens, the random people being arrested every time I had to cruise down Western, I saw a girl who looked remarkably similar to Michelle Trachtenberg crossing the street on Slauson:
It was after I saw the Michelle Trachtenberg look-alike wandering around in the "ghetto" that I decided I was done worrying about anything shitty happening. It turned into a regular old working-class job that I was obligated to finish doing before I could move on and start working at the Blockbuster in Hollywood.This never took away from the feeling that I had a close-call situation with having to work in the ghetto at night. It was during those dreaded five days or so before my last route started that I wondered if I might end up being the next Raymond K Hessel.
Granted, if something like that were to happen to me while closing the shop at night, the person with the gun would probably be less concerned about the fact that I went to school for so long only to drive trucks, and I would inevitably end up with a hollow-point in my skull...
The third day is when things started to go wrong.
Sunday morning, I made it to the truck depot around 7:40am. It was still chilly from the night before. Quiet and breezy. None of the businesses on 130th street and Broadway are open on Sundays, so I really was the only person there. It was when I went into the alley behind the truck depot to open the shop that I saw the omen...
What followed after that was the first problem of the day.
Apparently, the night before, one of the other driver's had returned a truck from Vegas and had to park it next to mine. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, but the shop was practically full at this point. There was no room for me to move my truck. The keys to the other truck had already been dropped in the office, which I had no keys to...so I was forced to call my boss from out of bed to drive to the shop and help me get the truck out.
This put me roughly thirty minutes behind schedule. I had a feeling this might end up being the first incident of three..."The Rule of Threes," my best friend would say...just like when we moved to Vegas.
My boss showed up and we got my truck out of the shop. It was on my last day that I decided to buy my own camera. I couldn't let any of my adventures in South Central go completely undocumented. As soon as I got to Redondo Beach and Western, I made a quick stop at the CVS on the South East corner and bought two disposables.
The first several shots were a series of intersections on Main and San Pedro...mostly crip territory:
Imperial and Main:
Bloody roadkill on Manchester, near Avalon:
Water conduit between 107th and 108th, LA River:
Colden and Main, Main Street Crip Territory:
Things seemed to be running smoothly until I decided to make a stop at a McDonald's near Slauson and Fairfax. When you gotta go, you gotta go...but for this particular piss break, the battery on my truck decided to eat shit...or at least it had me convinced that it was eating shit.It was an extra thirty minutes or so that I was stuck in the middle of this shopping center, wondering how many more things could go wrong with another three hours left of driving in Inglewood.
My boss showed up after twenty minutes and managed to get the battery working again. Luckily, nothing else went wrong for the rest of the day.
5:30pm and I returned the truck to the shop. 130th street was still a ghost town when I returned from my last route. I could hear someone working in another warehouse on the other side of the street, a hissing buzz saw every few seconds. It was awkward and lonely, but somehow I felt a little safer.
I locked up the shop for the last time and took a few final shots, including the alley behind the warehouse.
Alley facing South:
Alley behind the warehouse facing East:
Like sardines I would always say:
I wasn't mugged during any of my last three days with Street Blimps. No one tried to bust any caps in my ass, I didn't come across any confrontations with the locals...no one broke into my car.The truth is, Compton, along with many other parts of South Central LA, is much safer today than it was 10/15 years ago. The rivalries between the Bloods, the Crips and all the Mexican gangs in Los Angeles still exist, but the casualties of all the innocent bystanders have dropped significantly over the past couple of decades.
If you take a casual drive through some of the streets in South Central LA, you might see a white person walking their dog from time to time. An old white couple getting a tire replaced on their old camper. A racially diverse group of children playing softball on a neighborhood diamond. These are things you'll see in any other district or incorporated city of Los Angeles.
This does not mean you will not get mugged walking to your car after closing up a store at night. It does not mean someone wont try to break into your car to steal a stereo or a laptop or an iPhone. It is still possible to "fuck up" by driving into the wrong neighborhood, leaving your car by a shady street corner, or interacting with the wrong people.
I can't really see myself having the need to drive through the South Central part of Los Angeles ever again...but if I ever need to do it I wont feel quite as anxious about it as I did when I worked for Street Blimps.
I had a working-class job in the most notoriously dangerous city in all of Los Angeles for a whole month...and no one ever broke into my car.
However, my car was broken into...when I lived in Orange County:
