‘Lord, you said no child would ever be hungry, no child would ever be alone because you’d send someone. . . .’ : Watching Over the Children

It was as if the prodigal daughter had returned home.

As soon as Monique walked through the door, Alice Harris’ eyes bulged and her arms opened.

She didn’t ask about Monique’s drug problem. It didn’t matter that Monique’s clothes were tattered and her hair was unkempt--at least she was alive.

“Where you been, girl? I’ve been waiting on you,” Harris said, gently wiping dirt off Monique’s face and sliding her fingers through the woman’s matted hair.

“I had a baby, Miss Harris,” Monique said, cautiously. “I had him two weeks ago, and he’s healthy. He weighs 7 pounds. I brought him over so you could see him.”

As Harris took the newborn in one arm and Monique’s hand under the other, she prayed, “Lord, you said no child would ever be hungry and no child would ever be alone because you’d send someone. . . .”

For the children of Watts, Harris has been that someone.

In makeshift shelters and classrooms on Lou Dillon Avenue, she works to keep them off the streets, off drugs and in school. Nine years ago, she organized Parents of Watts to counsel teen-age mothers and to foster cooperation between the black and Latino communities. But, as the needs of the community have grown, so has Parents of Watts, and it now runs about 15 programs on a budget of only $70,000 per year with a staff of five.

A Woman With ‘Grit’

Harris was recently selected as one of Ms. magazine’s Women of the Year for 1988, six women that the publication described as having “one overwhelming characteristic in common: grit.”

Pointing to a poster-board sign listing its activities, the 54-year-old Harris said: “All them you see came from a need in this community.”

“I used to be a Monique,” added Harris, who reared nine children. “I know what it means to be homeless. And, I know what turned me around--someone being there when I needed them.”

Harris, once a welfare mother, has lived in Watts for decades and joined the looters two days after the riots broke out at 116th Street and Avalon Boulevard, she has said in previous interviews.

She never threw a rock or bottle, never lit a match and never joined the gangs that tore Watts apart; she did take a fan, which, along with a cut on her ankle she suffered during the rioting, served as a souvenir of the troubled times.

But in the years since, she has earned her high school diploma and continued on to college, gotten off welfare and with her husband and children bought a house near Jordan Downs, from which she started Parents of Watts.

Now, Harris, fondly called “Sweet Alice,” is there to meet the needs of those in Watts.

One thing many people need is a job.

But the problem is that some, like Rodney Reddic, never finish high school, get mixed up with drugs and wind up serving time in jail.

Reddic, who lived in the Parents of Watts men’s shelter, said: “At this point, I don’t think anyone is going to help me out and give me a job. I got to go out and help myself.”

Because few employers or schools are willing to take a chance on people with histories like Reddic’s, it seemed he would never learn a trade--until Harris came along.

Photography Lessons

Three years ago, she organized a group of Watts high school students and turned an old garage, behind the Parents of Watts office, into a darkroom where free photography lessons are offered.

During the classes, taught twice a week by a Los Angeles Unified School District instructor, students borrow cameras and are trained in photography.

Then they are encouraged to roam the streets, the beaches and the shopping malls to take photographs of pedestrians or scenery and to sell their products.

“I am going to make this my profession,” said Reddic, who has been studying for nearly a month. “This way, I can work for myself. I won’t have to worry about someone telling me what time to be there or how much they will pay me. I can make as much as I put into it.”

Summer Classes

Many Watts youths were not putting much effort into their studies, and, when the high school dropout rate in Watts began to climb, Harris started offering summer classes in math, science and English for high school juniors and seniors.

Classes are held in the living room of one of the Parents of Watts houses, furnished with second-hand desks, tables and chalk boards. And every two years, students who complete the program are rewarded with a trip to Hawaii, sponsored by churches, teachers and neighborhood businesses.

“We don’t tell the kids, but the trip is really a series of motivational workshops. Once we get there, we have meetings to talk about college and scholarships,” she said.

The strategy worked on 25-year-old Laverne Clark.

When she was 16, Clark had a baby girl, then another child three years later. She was on welfare and thought about going to college to help get a good-paying job, but never pursued it until Harris intervened.

“Miss Harris stays on you,” said Clark, now a student at Compton College. “I told her one time that I planned to go back to school, and she never let me forget it. Every time I saw her, she talked about it. Then, she called me the day of registration and made sure I was out of bed and on my way.”

Harris says she has about 84 students in local community colleges and others in universities throughout the South.

Another Need

Bettering the relationship between Watts’ black residents and its increasing number of Mexican immigrants was another need that she recognized.

At the turn of the century, the area was settled by Mexican railroad workers. It became predominantly black during World War II. Today it is shifting back to mostly Mexicans.

“There was a time when the Mexicans could not walk on the same side of the street as the blacks without a fight breaking out,” Harris said. “The Mexicans thought the blacks were all murderers and thieves.”

To stop the fighting and the fear, Harris started classes in Spanish and English as a second language, taught by a teacher from the district.

“Before, all we could do was wave at each other. We never really talked to each other,” said student Andrea Marcial, in Spanish. “Now many of the black children have learned to speak Spanish and the Mexican kids speak English. So they play together and interpret for the parents. It makes a big difference.”

Other programs that Harris and her staff have organized include basketball games, family field trips and food distribution. All five of the center’s houses are surrounded by peach, banana, orange and avocado trees. The fruits are harvested and used to feed people in the shelter and other Watts families. Harris, who also gets 20 to 25 eggs a day from the chickens she raises, said, “No one around here will ever starve.”

However, she has lost some battles.

A 23-year-old paroled convict once came to Harris, looking for a job. His parole officer told him that if he didn’t find one within two weeks, he would be sent back to prison.

There were plenty of chores that needed to be done at Parents of Watts, but Harris had no money to pay the young man. He searched elsewhere for two weeks, but was unsuccessful.

“The day before he had to meet with his parole officer, he came to me. He had this desperate look in his eye,” Harris said. “I told him that I would go see his PO and explain the situation to her. As he left, he walked across the yard and called my name. I looked up, and he just smiled and waved at me. That night, he blew his brains out.”

Such times are devastating, but Harris said she never quits.

“We are all the lowest class of people have,” she said. “The rich can make it, and the middle class usually does fine, but the lowest people would be lost without us.”