Street Gangs’ Code Takes an Innocent Life in Name of ‘Honor’

San Diego police arrived at the grimy Southeast San Diego liquor store on Sept. 4 to find Jose A. Lepe lying in the doorway, mortally wounded and bleeding from a chest wound. A stunned Porfirio Lepe, called to the scene by Jose’s friends, knelt by his 20-year-old son and offered soothing but futile words of encouragement.

Outside, two of Jose’s friends lay wounded in the store’s dimly lit parking lot. The three were shot by a gunman thought by police to be a rival gang member who fired several times at a group of youths who had gathered at 38th Street and National Avenue, in a poor and predominantly Latino area called Shelltown by local residents.

Valentin Gutierrez, 14, who was wounded in the shooting, said later that night that he was “kicking back” with “the dudes,” including Jose, who had stopped to talk to his friends minutes before the shooting. The baby-faced Valentin said he saw the gunman approach from the shadows and take a firing stance but thought nothing of it.

“I thought he was one of (our) dudes, fooling around and trying to scare us. I didn’t know he was going to fire. . . . This dude just came by and started shooting.”

The police report, dry and to the point, said Jose died in a “gang-related shooting,” leading some to believe that his life revolved around gang activity in the neighborhood where he lived and died.

No mention was made that the young man held a steady job, or that on the night of his death he had walked to the liquor store to purchase a soft drink after lifting weights. After being shot, Jose staggered into the liquor store in a desperate plea for help.

Friends of the young man--many of them gang members--said he was an innocent victim of a defiant neighborhood code of honor that is followed by what police call Latino gangs--but which Jose did not subscribe to.

In the lexicon of the streets, Jose did not “claim.” He was not a gang member. He was not “backing up” the 38th Street Boys, Gamma Street Boys or other groups claiming Shelltown as their turf.

Although Jose did not subscribe to the code, others succeeded in applying it to him.

The unwritten code gives life to neighborhood gangs and often contributes to violence in San Diego’s Latino community, police say. But to the leaderless and loosely organized structure of youths who claim allegiance to Shelltown, the code is “only a set of rules to show others that this is our neighborhood.”

Shelltown is not so much a neighborhood as it is a territory.

“It’s the same neighborhood, just different streets (to signify different gangs). Maybe not much to some, but it’s our neighborhood,” said Carlos, 20, and a member of the Gamma Street Boys.

To drive home the point, the local boys have seen to it that their claims of sovereignty are known, if not recognized. Shelltown, ST and 19-20 (for “s” and “t,” the 19th and 20th letters of the alphabet), along with gang monickers, are spray-painted on walls, curbs, fences and bridges in a triangle-shaped area bordered roughly by Interstate 15, Interstate 805 and Division Street.

These pronouncements, however, would be meaningless without the code.

The code requires the “homeboys” from Shelltown to protect their “turf” and resist intrusions by outside gangs. The same code applies to rival gangs and also encourages forays into another group’s neighborhood solely for the sake of defiance and settling scores.

Now, there are new scores for the Shelltown boys to settle, as soon as the assailants in the latest shooting and their gang affiliation are known. Meanwhile, old scores that erupted in the past, when other gangs chose to “gang bang” in Shelltown, remain unsettled.

“Who knows why they (the gunman and an accomplice) were capping that night,” said a 15-year-old whose gang monicker is “Spooky.” “Maybe they were getting even because some of our homeboys did something to one of their homeboys. Nobody knows.”

Initially, it was thought that the assailants belonged to a Barrio Logan gang. But a few days after the shooting word drifted back to Shelltown that a National City gang also was claiming responsibility.

“It’s like Beirut,” said Danny, who is not a gang member. “You know, every time there’s a bombing in Beirut everyone takes credit for it. That’s what’s happening here. Everyone’s saying they did it so they can build themselves up.”

Spooky and six of his friends, all claiming Shelltown, were standing at 35th Street and National Avenue, discussing the shooting that killed Jose and left Valentin limping because of a bullet that went through his right thigh.

Understandably, the incident left Valentin, who had been claiming “for about a year,” badly shaken and with second thoughts about “kicking back” on the street with the guys.

“If it was a Logan boy, you know we’ll never get him,” Spooky said. “When those guys kill somebody, they go to Tijuana. If we kill somebody and we get caught, we go to jail.”

Max Verduzco, a detective with the police gang unit, said that most Logan gang members are recent arrivals from Mexico and that they have strong roots in their native country. In contrast to youths from Shelltown, some of whom do not speak Spanish, many Logan gang members do not speak English.

The oldest boys in Spooky’s group are 17, but each one said he has been claiming since grade school. Nobody, not even the police, knows the number of gang members in Shelltown.

“It all started when we were youngsters, over there,” said Javier, 17, who pointed across the street to Emerson Elementary School. “That’s when we first started writing it on the wall, ‘Shelltown.’ ”

Although they claim it, few of the youths know how their barrio got its name. The neighborhood was named for the military Quonset huts that dotted the area during World War II. Old-timers say that when seen from Logan Heights, the huts looked like shells littered on the landscape.

While the youths spoke to a reporter, carloads of other young men would drive by and exchange Shelltown’s recognition hand signal, a sideways “V.” However, one car that drove by did not give the signal. Instead, the driver slowed down and glared at the boys.

Gang members would say that the driver “mad-dogged” the group. Normally the hard stare would prompt retaliation. But not in this case.

“Oh, no. There goes my nina (godmother). She probably thinks I’m doing something wrong, hanging out with you guys,” said Danny, a high school senior who plans to go to college. “I’ll probably hear about this when I get home.”

Like Jose Lepe, Danny does not claim. But most of his friends do, and sometimes that can beget problems.

“I’ve known these guys since we were at Emerson,” Danny said. “I don’t get involved in what they do, but they’re still my friends. I can’t stop hanging out with them because the cops say they’re gang members. Yeah, I’ve been hassled by the cops just for being with them. The cops see us talking in a group like this and they think we’re making plans to rob or burglarize.”

Verduzco and his partner, Ed Aguirre, say they have to patrol the area aggressively because many of the Shelltown youths have been in trouble with the law. This is not contested by the young men, who talk candidly about being sent to juvenile hall for “thieving” and smoking PCP.

The smoking of PCP evokes a harsh criticism from their parents, who have recently learned how dangerous the drug is, the youths said.

“After I do PCP, I wait awhile before going home. And then I use a lot of Visine to get the red out of the eyes and chew a lot of gum to get the smell out of my mouth,” Eulogio, 17, said. “My jefita (mother) has gotten wise to it.”

The police gang task force has categorized the Shelltown groups as a gang, but that point is contested by some of the youths.

“You know, we’re from the same neighborhood, and guys from the same neighborhood hang out together . . . but because the cops see us together, right away they say that we’re a gang,” Enrique said. “If we are a gang, this gang has no leader. White kids hang out together, too, but why aren’t they called gangs?”

Many Shelltown-area youths are bused across town to Clairemont High School. They complain that police enforce the law differently in Clairemont, a predominantly white area.

“The cops see us kicking back here, and before you know it, they’re on your case, checking you for dope, looking for gang activity,” Eulogio said. “But do you think they do that in Clairemont or University City when they see a group of white kids kicking back on the street?”

Another youth quickly answers his friend’s question.

“They treat us different,” the youth said. “My cousins live in Clairemont. Do you know that if you call the cops to complain about loud music at night, they won’t do anything unless you file a complaint in writing? Here, the cops don’t wait for a complaint; they’ll come in and start kicking butts as soon as they hear the music.”

But, strangely enough, the police have supporters among those who claim gang membership.

“These hoodlums . . . get high on that sherm (PCP) and think they should kill somebody,” said Caesar, 20, whose monicker is “Pigeon.” If they can’t keep their cool when the police are around, he said, then the police are going to treat them like they’re hoodlums.

Caesar, who still claims with the Gamma Street boys, explained that his “gang banging” days are over. Those were “mistakes of my youth,” he said. These days, he would just as soon walk away from trouble, but that does not mean that he would back down if gang members from National City, Spring Valley, San Ysidro or Logan violated his neighborhood’s turf.

Porfirio and Eunice Lepe, Jose’s parents, and Carmen Gutierrez, young Valentin’s mother, wonder why it is necessary to protect their neighborhood, especially from other Latinos.

“It’s stupid machismo, “ Gutierrez said. “It’s an absurdity. That barrio versus this barrio. Why do Mexicans do this to each other? Why are they killing each other? This stupid code killed one good, innocent boy and almost killed mine.”

Porfirio Lepe, who immigrated here from Mexico, shares Gutierrez’s feeling. Lepe and his family were still grieving the death of a 23-year-old son, who succumbed last year to prostate cancer, when they were forced to bury a second son.

“This country offers some wonderful opportunities to young people,” Lepe said. “Both of my sons were working before they died and really didn’t have time to get in trouble. I taught them that they would never amount to anything by running in the streets. . . . Some young boys try to earn respect by doing the wrong things, but a boy needs to work in order to earn respect.

“I always taught Jose to walk away when trouble started. He told me that this put him up to ridicule at times, but he always did as I taught him. He didn’t have a chance to walk away this last time. My boy never had a chance.”

Meanwhile, the homeboys are plotting revenge, and Lepe shakes his head sadly.

The youths say it is bad for the neighborhood’s image if this latest challenge goes unanswered.

Eunice Lepe wipes away tears and asks, “What will be accomplished if another young man is killed? How will that help my son?”