Third and Vermont

It is easy to pretend California remains an unchanged place, forever golden. After all, poppies still bloom, along certain stretches of freeway. Middle-class suburbs still march outward in neat, clean rows, in certain towns. The natural marvels endure, Yosemite, the Mendocino Coast, the High Desert. They still make movies in Hollywood and country music in Bakersfield. The old gang’s still around--Malibu surfers, Mojave crazies, car lot hucksters and other familiar characters from the mythological land of endless summers.

The corner of Third and Vermont, in the absolute middle of Los Angeles, is where the pretending stops. On display here is what might be called the real California, or perhaps more accurately, the next California. There is no intersection like it anywhere else in the land.

The eyes settle first on the signage, an improbable assortment of billboards and strip mall marquees that suggest a reconvening of Babel’s tribes: The Famous Korean Dumpling House. $1 Chinese Food. Agencia de Viajes. Hon’s Body Shop. Karoke Box. California Donuts. La Ygriega Restaurant. Korean Sushi and Noodle. Fly to the Mythical Island of Bali. H.O.T. Thai Seafood. Vons is Value. Mecca Hallal Meats. BankAmericard Has a New Face: Yours.

After the signs, people. People from Mexico. People from Bangladesh. People from El Salvador. Chinese. Filipinos. Japanese. Blacks. And, yes, some whites. Three separate census tracts of roughly 10,000 people each intersect at Third and Vermont, and in none do Caucasians constitute anything close to a majority. In fact, the numbers from the 1990 census document what the eyes see--every possible ingredient in the human stew, all tossed in together in fairly equal measure. And so now what?

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Prem S. Dean would like to answer the question. An immigrant from Pakistan, he is principal of Mid-Wilshire Christian Schools, a small private institution with classes for children from preschool through sixth grade. The school sits behind the Los Angeles First Church of the Nazarene, an impressive brick structure that borders the Vons parking lot, across the street from a Filipino fast-food shack.

A short, stocky man in a powder blue suit, Dean sat at his desk Tuesday morning, hands folded, and talked excitedly about his mission. He had just helped shepherd the children from the blacktop playground to their classrooms. As on the corner, the student body had seemed a bit of everything, but also only one thing: Kids.

“This place is like a bouquet of flowers,” the principal said. “Each flower has its unique color, texture, individuality. We try to nourish that idea here. We allow every child to flourish and project his or her identity and individuality, and yet each child adds to the beauty of the entire bouquet, as each single flower adds to a bouquet.

“Our children come from different parts of the world, a wide variety of countries--Korea, Japan, China, Mexico, El Salvador, Bangladesh, India, Pakistan. All are here, and all add to the beauty. We derive strength from diversity, and so do the children. At first, some will keep to their own. It is natural. But we bring them along. After awhile they don’t know who they are playing with. You can see it on the playground. Blacks play with whites. Chinese play with Koreans and Koreans with Mexicans. They don’t care. They just play like children.

“It is exhilarating to see.”

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Not long ago, such glad talk was quite common. The great mixing under way in Los Angeles and across California was big news, the subject of books, documentaries, magazine cover stories. In fact, the story of the polyglot city became almost a cliche, overdone to the point of corniness. Then came riot, recession and disasters, followed by uncertainty, fear and anger.

The story line underwent a revision: Out with the melting pot scenes, in with the roil of racial and ethnic division. When the man at the center of the firestorm begged everyone to “just get along,” everyone snickered. Some of our top political leaders caught the scent, and accordingly calibrated their rhetoric. No longer did they speak glowingly of California’s future on the Pacific Rim. Instead, they pined for the good old days and promoted mean little efforts meant to return California to, say, 1955--when everyone looked a lot more like everyone else, and when those who did not at least kept to their own corners.

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter if no one is paying attention. It doesn’t matter if politicians pretend they can turn back the crashing wave. Third and Vermont is where the pretending stops. The mixing continues, an irresistible force. Third and Vermont is the beginning of the California future. Pray that Prem Dean’s lessons take.