At the End of the Chase

It seemed, in the lexicon of more cosmic events, just another car chase that ended tragically, the sad conclusion to a minor traffic violation.

Television mentioned it only briefly, and we didn’t carry the story at all. A man named Alton Moore, stopped by the police, had suddenly driven off at high speed.

He led them on a wild, 15-minute pursuit that terminated in a terrifying collision with another car. Moore died and three other civilians were injured.

It happened just a few miles from his home in South-Central L.A.

The television report on the incident was sketchy and without big-time merit. A life lost in a car chase creates no disturbance in the existence of a large city, unless the freeway is shut down or unless the victim is a star.

I watched most of the news report, but it was late and I was about to turn off the set when the brother of Alton Moore appeared. A reporter asked him about Alton. Darrell Moore said his brother was a good person who had never been in trouble.

“Then why did he run?” the reporter asked.

Darrell thought for a moment then replied, “He was just afraid of the cops.”

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Afraid of the cops?

Is that what the sad history of the LAPD has done to us? Has it taken the image of the policeman and twisted it so violently that even the approach of a cop fills us with terror?

They’re there to protect, not threaten, us, but fear hung heavily over the scene of carnage flashed briefly on the television screen.

Alton Moore, a black man whose family insists he had no criminal record, was afraid of the cops.

It was not a perception I was easy with, nor should any of us be. There was significance here beyond a fatal car chase, a painful shift in the image of those delegated to protect and to serve.

Over the next few days I tracked down Moore’s parents, Clara and Alton Moore Sr.

They live in a beautifully kept home on a street in Inglewood whose peace is broken only by the roar of airliners descending into LAX.

The lawn of the home is neatly trimmed and the flowers that surround it, a mixture of roses and petunias, are colorful and well-tended. The house reflects the presence of a family that cares.

Moore, 35, lived there with his parents. The picture they painted of him was that of a hard-working man who, in the beginning, had no fear of the police. Shortly after he graduated from high school, he was manager of a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant and aided investigators in searching for two men who had robbed the place and shot another worker, even though the robbers had threatened his life if he talked.

Moore’s problem with cops came, his parents says, because he was black, because he owned a BMW and because he dressed well.

“They’d stop him maybe twice a week,” the father said. We sat in a room adorned with family photographs. “They wanted to know where he got the money for the clothes and the car. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. They thought he was a drug dealer or something. I was so upset, I went to the police station and asked them, ‘What kind of people are you?’ ”

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Where he got the money to buy good clothes and the 1996 BMW was by working as a computer processor. His parents had established the family’s work ethic. Each holds two jobs. Alton, they say, rarely missed a day of work.

“He loved that car,” the father said, leading me into the bedroom his son had occupied. “He’d wash it almost every week. It was his pride and joy. And those clothes”--pointing to a closet filled with stylish sportcoats and slacks--”he loved them too.”

“Anyone who knew him adored him,” the mother said. “He was a kind and outgoing person who never wanted to hurt anyone.” Her voice choked. “We’re so sad. . . .”

This was the second tragedy in the Moore family. In 1993, a daughter, Alma Jean, was murdered during a robbery attempt. Darrell is the only surviving sibling.

The Moores have never officially been notified of their son’s death, either by the police or the coroner’s office and were unclear on the details of the chase.

An LAPD spokesman would say only that Moore’s car was stopped for a “traffic check.” At first, the spokesman said Moore tried to run down an officer and then he said that Moore almost hit an officer.

Was he afraid of the cops? “Of course he was,” the father said. “Every time he went around a corner they’d put the red light on him. He’s dead because he was a black kid with a nice car.” And that’s a tragedy that should affect us all.

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Al Martinez can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com