Athlete Ultimately Could Not Escape Violence

His neighborhood is sandwiched between the roar of landing jets overhead and the occasional crackle of gunfire between rival gangs on the ground.

But Rodney Anderson had good grades and no enemies. And when he accepted a basketball scholarship last year to Cal State Fullerton, he left those sounds behind.

Or so he thought.

He was visiting old high school friends outside an apartment building near his parents’ house earlier this month when someone ran past and fired several shots. At least three hit Anderson. One hit his spine. He remains hospitalized in serious condition.

“Why would it be him? He’s never been in trouble with anybody,” Anderson’s father, Joseph, said through tears, standing in disbelief behind the burglar bars on his home on West 94th Street in South-Central Los Angeles. “Why anybody here? I just can’t make sense of it.”

Police said that Rodney Anderson had no criminal ties, but that the apartment house--two doors from the Anderson home on a block of aging houses and apartments--had been the scene of recent gang-related shootings.

By all accounts, the Andersons had imbued Rodney with enough awareness to distance himself from the neighborhood’s criminal elements and enough common sense to use his basketball talent to get him into college.

Wasn’t that enough? Joseph Anderson asked. He looked left to the church beside his house. Then he fixed his gaze on the apartment building where Rodney was shot. Gang graffiti reading “93 St.” is painted on the front walls.

“He was just here visiting,” the father said. “One day we’ll be able to sit here and talk about it. But right now, it’s just so strange, you don’t know what to say.”

Rodney’s family requested that the hospital not disclose his medical prognosis. Friends who had visited him said it was uncertain whether he would walk again.

Joseph Anderson and his wife, Martha, raised their five children in the 94th Street home between Inglewood and Watts. Six months ago, they watched 18-year-old Rodney, the baby of the family, head off to Cal State Fullerton. When he came home for dinner on March 2, two days before the last game of the season, he played ball with some of his fellows on the same court where he perfected his crossover dribble.

Last week, college-educated men from the neighborhood were asking themselves whether youngsters who escape the violence can ever return.

“I was debating this with someone last night,” said Malcom Walker, who coached Anderson at Washington High School and now teaches at 95th Street School. “Do you come home after you’ve tried to do well for yourself and get a little something, or don’t you? The young man I was debating with says it’s crazy to come back if you can get out. I don’t think so. If you’re close enough, you’re going to want to see your mom and your people.”

Darryl Lott, another high school coach of Anderson’s, said anyone who gains status in a neighborhood risks becoming the target of aggressive youngsters out to make names for themselves. “To tell the truth, when I hear somebody talk about a random shooting, I’m not that surprised,” he said.

Anderson’s shooting, Walker said, reinforces the admonition that ends every conversation between young men from the neighborhood: “Watch your ass.”

Nearby on Vermont Street, Damitri Taylor heard it echo.

“My child is always going to be my child,” said Taylor, a mother of three who had heard of Anderson’s scholarship and the shooting. “But when he walks out the door, he is the world’s child.” On alternate days, she meets her son at Muir Middle School and her daughters at 95th Street School. “I take five minutes out to pray for them every day. Every parent here has that worry that someday something could happen, even if they’re grown. That will never change, because you can’t change the world around you.”

Anderson’s Fullerton teammates have tried to rationalize the shooting as best they can, by consulting either doctors or God, but the randomness makes it nearly impossible. Why Rodney? they ask. Was somebody jealous of his ability? Was it a case of mistaken identity?

As of Sunday, police had no suspect.

Ike Harmon, Anderson’s Fullerton teammate, closest friend and mentor, said, “I go in there and visit him with faith. I pray to God every night that he’ll . . . be back on that court. He’s young and he fights.”

To his teammates, Anderson’s struggle became a rallying cry for their last game. To some in his old neighborhood, where most people focus on earning a living, the dream of his recovery began to symbolize victory over thuggery.

They talked about Anderson as an underdog, a guy blessed with enough talent to earn a scholarship but not enough to count on basketball for a living. What distinguished him, friends said, was a workmanlike mentality.

“Rodney is one of our people,” said Carlton Legg, who lives nearby. “He doesn’t belong to the gangs, and the gangs can’t take him away. If someone is working hard enough at trying to do the right thing, like most of us are, you can’t stop him.”

A fund has been established by the University Advancement Foundation at Cal State Fullerton to collect donations to defray Anderson’s medical expenses. Checks can be made payable to the Rodney Anderson Assistance Fund and sent to University Advancement Foundation; 2600 E. Nutwood Ave., Suite 850; Fullerton, CA 92831.

Times staff writer Matthew Ebnet contributed to this story.