Residents Refuse to Give In to Crime

Like so many parts of the city, crime affects life every day in the neighborhood near Western Avenue and West 54th Street in South-Central Los Angeles. Children are called inside at dusk, and doors and windows are kept locked tight. Two gangs, the “Rolling 60s” and “Van Ness Gangsters,” battle for control of the streets, so even a short walk to the market carries the risk of being robbed or shot in a drive-by attack.

The community lies within the Los Angeles Police Department’s busiest division--the 77th, where the death toll so far this year has topped 50. Residents often feel powerless to stop the violence, but some do what they can to fight lesser problems--homelessness and burglary, wild dogs and car theft--by taking part in Neighborhood Watch groups. A few nights ago, one of the community’s oldest “block clubs,” formed in the early 1960s, gathered for its monthly meeting.

The unofficial minutes:

Retired nurse Odell Hollie, the 54th Street “block captain” for a dozen years, began talking as soon as she sat down. Her gripe was a boarded and abandoned house that had been taken over by transients, who had set it on fire.

“It’s just lucky that somebody was where they could see the smoke,” she said, glancing at the circle of faces. Hollie was one of nine Neighborhood Watch members who had assembled in a tasteful, Spanish-style home where the only signs of neighborhood trouble were wrought-iron bars on the windows and screen door.

Jacquelyn Littlejohn, 29, a mother of two who had joined the group last fall out of concern for her children’s safety, was quick to echo Hollie’s complaint; that house full of transients was across the street from her own.

“They took the boards or something off the back,” Littlejohn said. “You can’t see them from the front, but you see all the little (shopping) baskets in the back yard. And, (because of) them being there, somebody keeps breaking into my garage, taking stuff out of the garage. Every day we go out there, something else is missing out of the garage.”

Hollie interjected: “Mr. Calvin across the street from us has a carport--somebody had broken into that. So we’re having more and more problems because we have a bunch of homeless around here.”

Eula Cohen, 29, sitting across the circle from Hollie, offered a complaint about Western Avenue. “What is wrong, they can’t clean up Western? That’s about the worst street you ever wanted to look at--trash and stuff. You can’t even walk down Western, there’s so much garbage and trash!”

“You’re right about that,” said H. W. Durley, his voice rising above a swell of murmurs.

Littlejohn spoke again, mentioning the problem with the homeless in the park near her home: “They don’t turn the lights on at night. You don’t know who’s in that park!” Earlier in the week, a couch left out for city sanitation workers had been set on fire; three transients loitering in the park seemed likely suspects, she thought.

“After the fire truck and everything left, all of a sudden the three of them were walking together down 54th Street, so we think one of them did it.”

A moment later, LAPD Officer Donald Watkins, who regularly attends the Neighborhood Watch meetings in 77th Division, arrived late in a suit and tie. He immediately entered the discussion, acknowledging a long-running battle between police and the transients.

For awhile, he said, the homeless were living in an alley behind a market--25 or 30 of them.

“We worked with (the market) and got them removed from the alley, and they moved to the house here on 54th and Ruthelen (streets),” Watkins said. “It was set on fire a couple of times. Then we got them moved out of there and they took over the park.”

“Well, they’re back in the house,” Littlejohn informed him.

“Are they back there again?” The officer seemed concerned. “The place has been burned twice, which is really hazardous to the whole block.”

Watkins reminded the group of the trouble two years ago when transients were stealing aluminum screen doors to haul to a nearby recycling center. “Then it progressed to stealing trash cans, manhole covers. . . .”

The talk turned to the way transients sometimes rifled through the trash in a search for recyclable bottles and cans, leaving debris scattered along the street. They made it look as if dogs were digging through the trash, someone said. Which reminded Cohen of another concern--the huge brown dog that was being allowed to run free on her street, terrorizing neighbors.

“I wasn’t aware of it,” Watkins told her.

“Right around the corner there,” she said. “A big dog. (The owner) lets . . . lets him out at night . . . and every morning the yard is just a mess. (The owner says,) ‘He ain’t going to bite you’--and there are kids running around. I’m afraid of it.”

Corine L. Herden, 76, a frail-looking widow in a smart green blouse and who was playing hostess, spoke up for the first time. She knew the dog, knew it well. “I walk and I take a stick,” she said.

“We’ll get in touch with the owner tomorrow,” Watkins promised.

Cohen spoke again, raising questions about prostitution. Littlejohn then grabbed the group’s attention with a story about burglars who had broken into her car.

“Two nights in a row,” she said emphatically. “The third night, we just happened to be up--it was about 3:30 in the morning--and we heard glass breaking. We looked out the window and they had broken in the guy’s car across the street. (The police) said the guys came all the way from South Gate and they were over here breaking in the cars and stealing the batteries and radios. They got our batteries two nights in a row.”

Littlejohn mentioned the man across the street--the guy with the car alarm. “I’m sure all of us have heard the alarm go off every time the bus goes by. . . .”

“So he never pays any attention to it,” Hollie observed.

Everyone chuckled. “They went up under his car and cut his alarm before they took his battery,” Littlejohn said. Suddenly, the chuckling turned to sober mumbling.

Watkins acknowledged that even entire cars were being stolen--all makes, all models. “It’s not like it’s a ring stealing a certain car,” the officer said. “I think it’s just guys out here stealing--period.”

The discussion moved quickly to other subjects: weed-filled yards, unresponsive city officials, graffiti. Before long, the meeting was nearly an hour old. Cohen said she knew where at least one graffiti artist lived--in a duplex across from the park. But, she added sourly, “A lot of people know these things. . . . The reason a lot of people don’t tell . . . is they’re afraid because these kids will do something to you.”

Outside, a siren could be heard. That night, the 77th Division logbooks would be typically full: A Latino man, 27, shot and killed after an argument with three suspected Rolling 60s members; an infant clinging to life on a respirator after a crash involving a suspected stolen car; a 21-year-old drive-by shooting victim paralyzed from the neck down at Martin Luther King Jr./Drew Medical Center. . . .

Watkins gave a brief report on crime trends, saying the neighborhood was faring better than some sections of 77th Division. “Burglary and theft from motor vehicles are the two biggest problems going right now--aside from robberies,” he said. “Robberies and homicides are almost off the wall, and that’s because of the gang activity and the narcotics going on.”

Watch members were doing a good job, he said. Still, they needed to be careful. “If it starts getting hot at night, don’t leave your windows open--either daytime or nighttime,” the officer warned. “Just make a point of keeping your doors and windows locked. As uncomfortable as it is, that will save you a whole lot of headaches and grief later on.”

The meeting then adjourned to punch and cookies.