Farm Market Brings Harvest Bounty to Inner City

Plump strawberries, sweet ears of corn and shiny bell peppers appeared in the paved parking lot of a Los Angeles church recently.

It was a miracle--of the man-made sort. Farmers with picked-that-morning produce had set up shop in this multiethnic mid-city neighborhood, where many residents don’t have cars and the nearest supermarket is almost a mile away.

A big red and yellow banner at 8th Street and Westmoreland Avenue proclaimed that the market would be here each Monday, Sol o Lluvia (rain or shine).

Two hours after the opening--accomplished with the snipping of a yellow ribbon to which was tied a carrot--the free strawberry shortcake was gone, all 650 helpings.

In the shade of awnings and umbrellas, 19 vendors hawked asparagus (two bunches for $3), artichokes (50 cents), dethorned cacti ($1.25 a bag), Maui onions, kitty grass (for Felix’s fiber needs) and honey.

“This is something we should have all over the city!” gushed Harvey Schick, who lives a few blocks away. “There’s some excellent buys here, excellent,” he said, holding up a baby red potato.

Trade was a bit slow at “At’Sa My Bread,” where long Italian loaves were $1.50. Proprietor Mary Drone, in from Rancho Cucamonga, sized up the action: “This area depends a lot on food stamps and Social Security checks.”

Indeed, as members of the nonprofit Southland Farmers’ Market Assn., parent organization for 19 farmers’ markets from Santa Monica to Pomona, farmers must accept food stamps.

And, by cutting out the middleman, “Prices are generally 20-30% below retail,” explained Harry Brown-Hiegel, manager of the outdoor market. Brown-Hiegel, who has another life as a social worker, was later glimpsed sweeping the lot.

This market--on Mondays from 1:30 to 4:30 p.m. (2 to 6 p.m., starting June 7)--is a project of the crisis response network of the First Unitarian Church. It raised $5,000 seed money and enlisted the aid of its neighbor, First Baptist Church, which offered its parking lot.

The Rev. Ken Brown, coordinator of crisis response for First Unitarian, sees the market as a win-win deal: “It’s the salvation of the small farmer who can’t compete with the large industrial farmers of the Central Valley. And the consumer gets fresh produce.”

He expects other good ripples: It will be a place for ethnic groups, primarily Latinos and Koreans, to mix with one another as well as with members of both congregations who live outside the area.

Although the crisis response network was an outgrowth of the riots, which hit this area hard, Brown pointed out, “We’re adding something that was needed even before.” This is not rebuilding, he said, but “a positive revisioning of Los Angeles.”

At the navel orange stand, Vicki Bernard of Riverside said business was good but lamented, “I have to cover everything with plastic--so I don’t take the Medfly back home with me.”

Josephine Toreno--”As in, ‘I’m going to Reno and get a divorce’ “--had walked over from Vista Tower seniors complex. She was thrilled; she used to take the bus to the Santa Monica market.

“They should do this more often,” she said. “A lot of people around here are on walkers, canes.”

Toreno was testing her considerable charm on the man at the shortcake booth. She held out a plastic bag and he poured in the leftover berries. And perhaps she’d like a can of whipping cream? She would. And were those carrots from the tape-breaking ceremony going to be going to waste? . . .

A Truly Senior Prom

There were corsages for the girls, boutonnieres for the boys and punch and cake, and crepe paper streamers and silver and blue balloons--the stuff of which senior proms are made.

Dapper in a green blazer, prom king Dick Dodge and his queen, Margaret Ortega, did some fancy footwork as the band played “I’ll Never Smile Again.” He’s 69 and she’s 73.

Arlene and Clark Boatright of Whittier (Whittier High, classes of ’35 and ‘39) were chosen best-dressed. Her long white lace gown sashed in pink was vintage ‘40s. His white dinner jacket went on a Hawaiian cruise in the ‘60s and “had been in the closet for 30 years.”

And the band played “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You.”

This was the “Stardust Senior Prom,” a remember-when party put on by the seniors’ network at Presbyterian Intercommunity Hospital in Whittier.

The 400 prom-goers (average age: 70) strolled under a flower-strewn trellis into the California High gym where, seated on a white wicker settee, they posed for souvenir photos.

Mary Lou O’Keefe and Robert Sessler shared honors as best slow dancers with 45-years-wed Jack and Betty Robertson. Sessler was having a ball. He’d skipped his high school prom in Arlington, Mass. But he did make his prom at MIT, class of 1938: “Jimmy Dorsey and Helen O’Connell were playing.”

Tapping her toes to the music was 81-year-old Charlotte Hawksford of Whittier, escorted by son Chuck, a teacher at San Pedro High. He’d brought her, she explained, because “my husband’s kind of a stick in the mud. He’d rather watch TV.”

The snowball dance was a hit. Two couples started things off and, when the music stopped, they grabbed four more dancers and then there were eight and then . . .

“This is the first prom I’ve ever been to,” said prom king Dick Dodge of Whittier, who grew up in Fremont, Neb. His queen, Margaret Ortega, who lives in Lake Forest, had missed her prom at L.A.’s Garfield High, so this was “a big night.” (The royal pair were chosen by drawing.)

Jitterbugging off with a trophy were the Burgers, Ed and Doris. Wed 46 years, they were high school classmates in Nutley, N.J. But, said Doris, “I went to the prom with another fella.” Ed was remembering when classmate Frank Lautenberg--now U.S. Sen. Lautenberg (D-N.J.)--”used to sit in my rumble seat.”

Even the hospital staff kicked off their shoes. Staffer Pat Bray explained, “I went to a Catholic girls’ school and we didn’t have a senior prom. We learned to dance, but it was in the gym, with the nuns.

“Which is why I’ve danced with every man in the room tonight.”

Face It, Man: Elvis Was

Seen: Zipping east on the Santa Monica Freeway, top down, a be-finned red Cadillac convertible bearing the license ELVIS IS. The young man behind the wheel appeared to be more Doc Martens than blue suede shoes.