Free Toys Bring Joy, Disappointment

About 10,000 eager children and their parents crowded the streets of Boyle Heights on Saturday in a massive toy giveaway that brought out moving scenes of parental devotion and not-so-pleasant examples of the competitive spirit.

The sidewalks around the Hollenbeck police station swelled with a crowd as big as a small town. Parents and children who were unable to afford the heavily marketed toys desired by many children today waited hours--some even camped out for days--hoping to be among the lucky few to score a video game, mountain bike or in-line skates.

Several families braved cold and the discomfort of sleeping on concrete for several nights to hold a place at the front of the line in the first-come, first-served charitable event, sponsored by the Hollenbeck Youth Center.

Each year, the best gifts go to those who arrive first. And what those treasures may be remains a secret until moments before the event.

Expectations were high, pumped up by prizes in previous years such as Barbie dolls and skateboards. First in line this year at Chicago and 1st streets were Maria Lugano, 30, and her three children.

Lugano recently lost her job working in a catering truck, and planned to limit her gifts this year to clothes for her daughter and two sons. After camping out since Monday afternoon, Lugano and her children stepped into a tent set up on 1st Street on Saturday morning, where their holiday gift was unveiled: an iMac computer and half a dozen educational software programs.

Lugano burst into tears as her children began pecking at the keyboard.

“I can play with my little brother and teach him how to write,” said Maria, 10, referring to 5-year-old Francisco. “There’s also games about math so I could learn my math better and teach my brother.”

Such scenes have fueled the frenzy that now characterizes the event. Many families return each year. In the line, children recalled with awe the video games and bikes from previous years, and guessed at what might be waiting.

The tradition of big-ticket items and large crowds resulted from a setback. In 1996, more than 3,500 presents were stolen the week before the event. The story of the theft was aired on television news, prompting a flood of donations and more news stories about the new gifts.

Not surprisingly, the crowd that year was estimated at 12,000.

Since then, word has spread.

Kysha Holmes, 11, said the rumor among children in line was that TVs and computers were among the big prizes. With such high hopes, there were inevitable letdowns.

When children finally got their presents, some were moved to tears with disappointment, while others rejoiced. Kysha, who received in-line skates, was philosophical.

“I was hoping to get the computer, but only the first people got that. But that’s OK,” Kysha said.

Her cousin, Latierra Jasmine, 7, clutching a new doll, stood nearby with a pained expression. She did not complain, but Latierra reluctantly admitted she was disappointed when questioned by a reporter. “I wanted skates,” she whispered when asked what she had hoped for.

Other children were more open about their feelings. “I was here since yesterday and I got this,” complained Nestor Espinoza, 12, who held up a packet of soft rubber darts. Sitting nearby on the East Los Angeles sidewalk, a boy frowned as he puzzled over his present: an ice hockey stick.

Ana Torres, 48, said the toy giveaway has been tainted by the materialism of our modern-day values. The giveaway is a cause of joy and frustration--a competitive event that works out fine as long as you are willing to live on the street for a week. Some complained about line-cutters. A few wanted to exchange what they saw as inferior gifts. Others tried to double-dip, coming back for more presents.

Last year, Torres’ nephew, Gabriel, 12, got a Sony Playstation. Another year, he got a street hockey set. Her own daughters got a TV and a jacket last year.

“Last year we came in first, second and third place,” said Torres, drawing on sports vernacular.

In her childhood, Torres played with homemade tops and silky-haired dolls fashioned out of corncobs. “Those were our toys--whatever was around us,” said Torres.

Now, the native of Guerrero, Mexico, said, she and her sisters-in-law have to “live like the homeless” and jockey for position in line just to make their children happy.

“We need to educate our children better so they don’t expect us to have to do these things,” she said.

Along the crowded street, however, were lessons in parental devotion. Deborah Karto drove from her home near Torrance on Tuesday to sleep on a sidewalk in a strange neighborhood with her five children, whose ages ranged from 6 to 14.

As the kids cheerfully looked over their gifts, including Barbie dolls, a karaoke machine and a punching bag, one asked Karto what she got. “Mommies don’t get anything except staying up all night for you kids,” she said jokingly.