Village of the Damned

By John Davis

It has been about 16 years since the Playa Vista Development was plopped into the wetlands by a giant bird called the City Council of Los Angeles in two phases.

The Phase Two Environmental Impact Report (EIR) certified in 2004 by the Los Angeles City Council was shut down by the Court of Appeal. It was euphemistically named the Village at Playa Vista. A more accurate description would be the Village of the Damned.

Lawsuits have endured since 2001 when local environmentalists, myself included, filed suit to protect human health and safety. The development sits atop a former oil and gas production field, adjacent to the Southern California Gas Company’s underground natural gas storage facility. Methane which is highly flammable migrates from deep underground to the surface where it escapes into the atmosphere after passing through three separate underground aquifers (underground water reservoirs) and is sometimes accompanied by other dangerous oil field gasses such as hydrogen sulfide, a deadly neurotoxin dangerous to the brain in extremely small concentrations. The young and elderly are the most susceptible. Add to this mess the fact the area is subject to tsunami, liquefaction (like shaking wet mud with buildings floating on top), and periodic floods of Ballona Creek. This is a disaster in the making and represents a massive public liability. The public has already paid enough for government mistakes lately.

The City is up to its old EIR tricks again. The Second Phase EIR was entirely demolished by the Court of Appeal on certain issues, but demolished nonetheless as no valid EIR withstood legal challenge, even partially. The City pretends one did stand just because they certified, (approved) it. By its Bush era logic, the City is now trying to force stakeholders, you and me, to watch what we say and only speak to the parts of the defeated EIR the Court of Appeal did not like.

However, application of CEQA (The California Environmental Quality Act) was ordered by the Court of Appeal and it is CEQA the people shall have. The City must now consider the project in real time and not pretend time froze in 2004 when the City Council certified their first failed attempt.

Current circumstances must now be considered such as our new understanding of earthquake threat potential, increased building and population already taxing our roads and neighborhoods to their limit. The City Council now wants us all to inhale gagging air pollution from tens of thousands more cars trips daily so their money masters can make can turn a dime on Wall Street by sacrificing our legal right to public health and safety.

The First Phase lawsuit filed in 2001 was denied in Los Angeles Superior Court and reversed on Appeal. The California Court of Appeal ordered the methane systems at the project VACATED. These are public safety measures designed to keep explosive gases out of homes and buildings. While the City Council did this by motion it met nothing because City Departments continued to employ the existing methane mitigations (prevention measures) and continued to install and approve new systems at their own legal peril issuing certificates of occupancy in contradiction of a court order, hoping we would go away. As a result the people have been callous lily tossed into harms way, thousands of them, men, women, and children.

Well, we are still here and that should teach City Hall not to mess with people from Venice. Local Sailor Dan Cohen who enjoys a rough and windy sea is co-plaintiff. His Aunt Dorothy Greene was an environmental leader with Heal the Bay. Along with Dan and myself are Grassroots Coalition and Environmentalism through Non-Violent Action, both local non-profit Environmental organizations. Patricia McPherson from Venice is the Executive Director of Grassroots. Leave it to locals to take care of their own. As a non-profit Grassroots accepts donations which are used to promote a healthy local environment.

Vacate met the City was to STOP using the methane mitigations at Phase One if and until the Court order was lifted. Furthermore the City employed a study not undertaken pursuant to the California Environmental Quality Act, called it a “Peer Review,” and then proceeded to pretend the City Council decision was based on CEQA, freezing the public. The City limited the scope of the study to ask only the questions the City wanted answered, not what CEQA required the City to consider. CEQA commands that all potential adverse affects to the Environment be considered not jut the one which co-pleasured the City Council Members and Developers.

The Phase One lawsuit was tied up in Superior Court the second time, after the Court of Appeal ruled on the absolute vacation of the methane mitigations and sent it back downstairs to be fixed. Several Judges, about seven, rescued (stepped aside to due conflicts) leaving the Phase One Lawsuit in limbo for well over a year denying a speedy trial.

Finally, to my expectations the lower Court finely ruled against us. In doing so the Judge on the case at a calendared hearing, ordered the Court Reporter to take no records. Then the Judge took the City Attorneys and Playa Capital Attorneys into private chambers where a private conservation was established. Plaintiffs (us) were left standing outside and muted by the Court, a violation of the U.S. Constitution. The other side had failed to meet court order to produce records and was excused from that violation in the secret meeting.

It went on. I filed documents that showed that the 16 year old EIR for Phase One and Two (Master EIR) was never completed. Neither were other Subsequent or Supplemental EIRs which would have modified a real EIR. If this were not enough the City admitted that it had not recertified the Master EIR to keep it alive as recertifications must by law take place every five years. So in my opinion the City never completed an EIR and even if it did it would now be expired. The City has suppressed this information from the Court of Appeal. When presented with the Official Records of the State Office of Planning and Research which validates if EIRs are complete, the facts were ignored. The Judges logic was challenges should have been made to an incomplete EIR in 1993, which is impossible.

In the Phase One Lawsuit City Council members, except for Dennis Zine, were accused of taking bribes in violation of the Fair Political Reform Act of 1972. That law requires if you are voting on a project and you took money from the owners, you must rescue yourself (not vote) until a year had passed. Otherwise it would appear that City Council votes are for sale.

City Attorney Rockard Delgadillo also failed to rescue, even though he took money in his bid for Attorney General while advising the City Council on project decisions without waiting for a one year period to first pass.

The City could never produce the body of the EIR at trial. They hid it. There was no body before the Judge as Habis Corpus (Bring forth the body!) legally requires.

The City said the body was filed in another lawsuit. Playa Capital said it was in the record as a picture of a CD. The Superior Court Judge did not have the body but only a single piece of paper as a symbolic representation of the body. The Judge held a trial with no body which is legally impossible.

Two appeals have now been filed moving the Phase One lawsuit back up to the Court of Appeals.

Recently, the sneaky City Attorney has tried by slight of hand to get the EIR (body) into the record, after the Superior Judge had already ruled. In papers filed by the City Attorney on appeal it admits the Judge only had a copy of the CD purportedly containing the body on trial. Submission of this after the fact evidence and  the City Attorneys self admission of sneakery is shameful. The Court of Appeal will not consider evidence not considered before the Superior Court bench. In the United States the body must be present at trial.

Our local environment can only be protected by good people who raise their voice. The environmental process for the Village at Playa Vista is now open for comment.

If you do not like the idea of breathing even more air pollution in your lungs, please comment on the EIR for Phase Two before April 30th.

• Email –  David.Somers@lacity.org

• Mail – David Somers, City Planning Department Room 750, City Hall, 200 N. Spring Street, Los Angeles, CA, 90012

• View EIR – Venice Library and other Local Libraries or online at CityPlanning.lacity.org

• GrassRoots Coalition Website – SaveBallona.Org.

also failed to rescue, even though he took money in his bid for Attorney General while advising the City Council on project decisions without waiting for a one year period to first pass.

The City could never produce the Body of the EIR at trial. They hid it. There was no body before the Judge as Habis Corpus (Bring forth the Body!) legally requires. The City said the body was filed in another lawsuit. Playa Capital said it was in the record as a picture of a CD. The Superior Court Judge did not have the body but only a single piece of paper as a symbolic representation of the body. The Judge held a trial with no body which is legally impossible.

Two appeals have now been filed moving the Phase One Lawsuit back up to the Court of Appeals.

Recently, the sneaky City Attorney has tried by slight of hand to get the EIR (Body) into the record, after the Superior Judge had already ruled. In papers filed by the City Attorney on appeal it admits the Judge only had a Xerox Copy of the CD purportedly containing the body on trial. Submission of this after the fact evidence and the City Attorneys self admission of sneakery is shameful. The Court of Appeal will not consider evidence not considered before the Superior Court Bench. In the United States the Body must be present at trial.

Our local environment can only be protected by good people who raise their voice. The environmental process for the Village at Playa Vista is now open for comment.

If you do not like the idea of breathing even more air pollution in your lungs, please comment on the EIR for Phase Two before April 30th.

• Email – David.Somers@lacity.org

• Mail – David Somers, City Planning Department Room 750, City Hall, 200 N. Spring Street, Los Angeles, CA, 90012

• View EIR – Venice Library and other Local Libraries or online at CityPlanning.lacity.org

• GrassRoots Coalition Website – SaveBallona.Org.

Growing Up in Oakwood

By Lisa Marguerite Mora

Winding down from an afternoon of errands, I make a right onto Electric and drive parallel to Abbot Kinney and Main Street. This was my old neighborhood when I was a child. It wasn’t called Abbot Kinney when I was a kid back in the sixties. It was called West Washington Boulevard and I went to Westminster Elementary School, which originally was the Martha Washington School established in 1905, located at 1010 W. Washington. I remember we had to practice writing it in the 2nd or 3rd grade. One thousand and ten, an unfathomable number.

Now maneuvering through these avenues, I’m amazed at the shiny windows and the brightly painted beach houses: little wood houses in colors like purple and yellow with contrasting trim. It’s all so cheerful and hopeful and I feel a combination of elation and sadness (is that what nostalgia is?). Where did my childhood neighborhood go? Where did all those people go?

Like Samantha, who was a few grades ahead of me, she lived in a house here on this back alley with seven other brothers and sisters and her parents. I remember her standing in bare feet on the dusty green porch of a dirty green house with flaking paint. Her parents sent her out to do modeling. She was eleven, lithe, and pretty. Ooh so exotic, I remember feeling when I was eight. I watched her swing one bare foot back and forth while she stood in her checkered cotton dress on the first step. I guess she’ll be okay, I thought. Which shows the extent of what I knew of such matters. If someone wants to take your picture, you’re on your way. No more worries. Why I was worrying at that age has something to do with the times I grew up in, among other circumstances.

There was also beefy, sturdy Amelia who wore her red ringlets in a tight ponytail. She sat behind me in Chorus. The younger boys were scared of her because even though she had the voice of an angel, she had a fist like a lunch box. We had an excellent arts program at Westminster Elementary.

Thanks to (President) Johnson’s Great Society bills, I got music lessons every week as well as chorus practice and the opportunity to perform in all the seasonal events. Chorus practice was in the original auditorium built in 1912 which should have been preserved as an historical site after it was damaged in the 1971 earthquake. But it, along with its beautiful domed ceiling, was subsequently condemned and torn down. It saddens me every time I drive by and see the vacant grassy area, where children can play, sure. But where did our voices go that not only ricocheted around in my head but also off that ceiling that to me imitated the curved sky, and the pale pale green walls of that cavernous and dignified architecture?

I know what happened to Frank with his bad-boy sneer and good looks. He tested in as really, really smart. We were in G.A.T.E (Gifted and Talented Education program) and our teacher was Mrs. Doreen Nelson who is Frank Gehry’s sister and is now noted for creating the City Building Educational Model. We were her pilot program. Many of us were underprivileged, gifted, and needed a lot of stimulation. Mrs. Nelson didn’t know what else to do with Frank, because he didn’t do his homework and didn’t pay attention, so she said he had to give a talk on something he was interested in, in front of the whole class. Frank got up from his desk, walked to the blackboard, took up a piece of chalk and proceeded to draw a car engine while explaining what all the parts were. And then he went on to discuss how you took the engine apart. Frank was grinning, eating up the attention and I remember being impressed with his knowledge, though I didn’t care a damn about the inner workings of a car. It was his self assurance that was riveting. Our teacher stood at the back of the classroom her arms crossed and she was smiling. That was when I was in the fifth grade the year after we walked on the moon and before The Beatles broke up. Last I heard, Frank was in San Quentin.

I never knew where she lived, but Teresa followed me home from school once. She knocked on my front door. “Father McCarthy told me to tell you that I’m sorry for being mean to you.” I guess she had confessed her sins against me. She liked to call me names and run by and hit me in the arm. She liked to mimic me. Sometimes she and her short, mean, little red-haired cousin Marla would corner me at the end of the playground after school and torment me. In exasperation I’d turn around and say, “What do you want?” Then they’d kind of backup and giggle nervously, because they didn’t know. It wasn’t anything they could articulate. But Teresa had something of a love-hate feeling for me because sometimes she tried to be my friend. She knew I loved cats so once she brought me a book from the library, The House of Thirty Cats. I remember I had already read it, a few times. I frequented the old Venice Library—today it’s the Vera Davis McClendon Youth & Family Center– when the library was on California next to the Masonic lodge which is now the Electric Lodge performance venue. An old building now registered as an Historic Place in Los Angeles, I loved its cool musty smell of old books, and similar to our school auditorium, old wood and dampness. But I was scared every single time I walked there from school and when I had to leave its sanctuary to return home where I lived on the outskirts of the Venice-Santa Monica border. The walk home along the boulevard took me past bars on windows, grimy streets, the smell of alcohol, and an occasional tough faced adult or worse, the belligerent scowl of an older kid.

As for The House of Thirty Cats, I hope I had taken the book from Teresa and thanked her for it. But I can’t remember what I did. Sometimes she would walk next to me and take hold of my hand. We must have been ten. When she was nice to me I accepted it but when she hated me I just tried to get away. Once we graduated from Westminster Elementary School I lost track of her. It wasn’t until I was seventeen and attending Venice High (its original name was Venice High Poly Tech whose pristine green lawn had once been graced by a fountain and later displayed the much abused statue of Myrna Loy) that I saw her again. She was fighting another girl in the alley, the other girl’s hair gripped in her fist. She didn’t notice me walk by. That was the last time I saw her and I regret it with all my heart.

Venice was mainly poor white, black, and Hispanic. There were a number of artists scattered throughout living in obscurity. Obscure to me, anyway. Maybe they weren’t obscure to their artist community at the time. Mrs. Nelson did invite Frank Stella and Claus Odenberg and probably her architect brother to our classroom. But I vaguely remember these events and now thirty, forty years later I’m surprised when I learn that some pivotal figure lived in Venice at that time when I was eight or nine or ten.

Venice’s natural environment is more colorful now than it was when it was the Venice I grew up in, a poor beach town, some would say ghetto, some would say slum beach, that attracted Jewish retirees, immigrants from post Second World War Europe and later, participants of that generation that would create a revolution and change our ideas about everything. I have mixed feelings that people who never went to POP pier, who never rode the trams, who never heard the music from the free beach concerts, never saw the poverty—a poverty that was more widespread and if I can say this, more democratic and less offensive than it is now—those who have come from elsewhere and lured by the Disneyland dream, now live in remodeled houses or in the Venice Art Lofts which is a three-story concrete building stacked on the edge of this narrow back alley. Venice was not affluent, but I don’t remember solitary people sleeping on sidewalks either. No doubt they were there, but not in the numbers of today.

My friend’s mother—a single mom and probably on welfare herself– cooked up a big black pot of soup every Friday and took it down to one of the beach umbrellas where you used to be able to sit. And people lined up. She fed them every weekend. Eventually she was covered by the local news and she expanded her project. She was the first activist I ever knew, though I didn’t realize it and wasn’t impressed by it. In my child mind I assessed she was doing her job. I saw nothing radical in her actions, though her neighbors were mean about her under their breaths. And this bewildered me.

I’m trying to remember what was here before the Venice Art Lofts. Was it just an empty lot of sand and weeds? The kind my friends and I used to play in, looking for shiny treasure and colored bits of broken glass, trying to avoid the red ants that camouflaged themselves there. I didn’t realize at the time my friend’s mom was like that shiny treasure.

On the other hand, I don’t remember there being so much green. People didn’t have these tiny lush gardens filled with bougainvillea and rose bushes and that long spiky bamboo, ringed like a lizard’s tail. When I was a kid I was starved for green. I hated the endless white yellow sand of Venice Beach. The dustiness of it. And the strangeness of the sticky salty ocean that sparkled relentlessly on most days. And the tall lonely palm trees. But I liked the fog. Its cool mystery, its slow, smoky shape. And its damp, like the cool breath of some infinitely large and benevolent being which seemed to be promising me something.

There is the ache for the past and this happiness that I have survived it. I feel glad that Venice is being cared for, that its charm has been cultivated, but at the same time I am trying to grasp the essence of this time that has passed, so that I can understand where I come from. I want to hold it firmly, name it with the names of all those people I knew well or casually when I was just a child trying to survive each day. It was a different place and a different time. I watched the sixties explode in a riot of pot and patchouli and unrest before my child eyes. And all I wanted was to get away from it. Things weren’t right. I knew the world was changing but I didn’t know what it was changing to. And I have been shaped by that change.

“You are the ones,” my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Glatt, told us. With her short red hair and dressed in purple down to her tights she stood in front of our class in all seriousness and counseled us about the direction our lives should take. “You are the ones who will be responsible for making the world better. You are the gifted ones. You must do well.” Imagine. Eight years old, and we were forced to the awareness that we must be responsible not only for ourselves, but for all of mankind.

But now I am in my forties. I have survived fire, several major earthquakes, a few cataclysmic heartbreaks, some serious car accidents, and the good intentions of my parents. I have spent my whole life searching for this promise I feel in the breath of the fog, the lap of the waves, the urgings of my teachers, and in the calmness or fear or curiosity you see in people’s eyes when you really look at them. In my brain I hold these very sharp memories while I have waited for the thing that would catapult me into the change that I was somehow supposed to instigate.

I have slowly become a writer. So perhaps the change has occurred, and much has happened in thirty years, including the election of a black President. Perhaps I have done my part. The wrongs of environmental pollution, and the necessity of civil rights, citizen rights, consumer rights, and women’s rights were so drilled into my young mind that I took for granted these things were part of everyone else’s bedrock philosophy as well. My past and yearning for the future has become the present, and now I must bring the past into the present: Teresa who despite all good efforts still inflicted more and more pain on the world that ultimately failed her, Frank with his genius IQ who could not find a way out of San Quentin, Mrs. Glatt and Mrs. Nelson, who despite their daily good intentions could not save any of us. We have either saved or not saved ourselves. There are others from that time—that Venice of the past. I will bring them out into the light and give them their due. This is what I decide as I drive around the back streets and alleys of this better Venice.

But has it gotten better? Maybe it’s just a caricature of what people from other parts of the country wanted it to be. Somewhere in the mid-seventies it became conscious of itself—self conscious—a culmination being that ridiculous ballerina clown on Main Street, for instance.

I am a native Venetian-Angeleno and I hark back to what my little city looked like—who it really was–before it grew up and began to posture itself for those who wanted it to be some kind of freaky paradise; before I lost my childhood; before I became encumbered with the impossibility of my own expectations, and the world impinged my psyche with its demands and its promises, before I too grew up and changed.

Lisa Marguerite Mora conducts creative writing workshops at the Electric Lodge. She can be contacted her at lisa@barring toneditorial.com and at http://www.barringtoneditorial.com.

It Did Happen Here: When our Japanese neighbors were sent to concentration camps

By Scott Yuda, Jr.

During World War II, under Adolf Hitler and his Nazi organization’s “rule,” so to speak, ordered for any person 1/8 Jewish or more to be relocated to concentration camps, where they were decimated. Ultimately, approximately six million Jewish citizens were killed in these concentration camps by the order of a crazed dictator who felt that he was doing the work of Providence (Ha!). The United States of America — Darlings that they are — acted as some sort of global police to put an end to this attempted genocide. However, a turn of events occurred on 7 December 1941, when the Japanese Navy launched an attack on the US Naval Base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The “day that will live in infamy.”

Shortly afterward, President Franklin D. Roosevelt issued Executive Order 9066 and 9102, which called for Japanese-American citizens to be relocated into internment camps. They were given very few days to vacate their own houses and farms, and had to leave all of their possessions behind, except for what they could carry in their arms. There were many of these camps throughout the country, such as Manzanar, which was nearby Sierra Nevada. Other camps included the Santa Anita racetrack, where these “Japs” were forced to live in horse stables, as if it was acceptable for dehumanization of this caliber on American soil, but we were engaged in combat with Germany for the same reasons. “Oh, we’re not killing them, so it must be okay.” If I had to choose between dehumanization or death, I would undoubtedly choose the latter.

My aunt, Akiko Yagi, was one of these loyal Japanese-American citizens. In 1942, she was relocated from her farm in Lancaster, California, to Holston-One (of three) in Parker, Arizona when she was only eighteen years old. They leased their lands to Caucasians, and, after they left, their worldly possessions were stolen, vandalized, and sold.

Thankfully, she was kind enough to elaborate on the conditions in which they were subject to in these internment camps. Parker, Arizona is a high-desert climate, meaning that they must endure the scorching heat of day, and the blistering cold of the night. Upon arrival, they were hauled into barracks, and forced to construct their own mattress out of straw, and were given one blanket a head.

Each barracks consisted of about five people. She said, “It was so hot during the day that we put wet towelettes on top of our heads, but by the time we walked from one barracks to the next, the towel was bone dry.” They were living in a barren wasteland, yet they persevered, and, within time, made their exile a bit more livable. They started planting around their barracks, and gave the deserts of Parker a more vibrant contrast. They made their own tofu and soy sauce to add more taste to their bland food rations of sauerkraut and a greenish stew that passed as curry.

Their rest room was a hole dug in the ground. They were considered aliens. And these were law-abiding, tax-paying, honest, American-born citizens that just happened to be of Japanese descent at the wrong time, apparently. In their absence, everything they ever owned was stolen and vandalized. Even a World War II memorial, showing reverence to Japanese soldiers fighting in U.S. uniforms was demolished, and was not reconstructed until May of 2008, when the Lancaster Rotary Club had a stone from India lasered to re-honor those lost in battle.

Upon their release, between the years of 1945 and 1946, they were thrown back into the world with absolutely nothing. It took my aunt and her brothers almost four years to get back on their feet. They couldn’t even farm, due to the fact that their farming equipment had been stolen, let alone their farms to begin with! Caucasian tenants had moved in during their absence, and refused to let them have their land back. Any who challenged these new tenants were shot or hung. Also, prominent members in Japanese Societies, such as the West Los Angeles Katana Society, were incarcerated without trial and severely beaten because of their affiliations in these legitimate organizations.

However, there was hope. My great-grandfather, George Inagaki, along with his close friend and business associate, traveled from Los Angeles, California, where they owned property on Centinela (the shopping center in between Washington Boulevard and Washington Place) to Washington, D.C., where they were to have a meeting with the Secretary of Defense. Both were active members of the Japanese-American Citizens League (JACL), and were held in high respects. During their travel, they were incarcerated in Alabama for being citizens of the United States that happened to have slanted eyes. Basically, they were incarcerated because their prosecutors held xenophobic-racist beliefs, and were scheduled to be hung. They missed their appointment with the Secretary of Defense due to their incarceration and pending execution, and, luckily, the Secretary had heard of their trouble and had rescued them, for lack of a better word, so they could hold the meeting. By the end of the meeting, George Inagaki and Mike Masaoka had volunteered military service for the U.S.

George was sent to the Pacific Theatre, and became Admiral Nimitz’s personal interpreter, given that he spoke both English and Japanese. Mike Masaoka was sent to Europe and initiated Japanese-Americans held in internment camps to volunteer for service in the 442nd American Infantry Regiment, which became the most highly decorated regiment of American military service in United States history. The 442 Battalion has earned a plethora of Medals of Honor, Purple Hearts, and so on and so forth, and have implemented an unsurpassed display of bravery.

In the end, the five Masaoka brothers all joined the service but only four returned alive, and one permanently disabled from a wound to vital organs. The price to pay for a Purple Heart award, no?

In 1946, the Japanese-Americans were thrown back into a cruel world with nothing to their name, and, eventually got back on their feet. By the end of World War II, six million Jews were killed in the crematory pits and by firing squads, and some 100,000 Japanese-American citizens were subject to the internment camps.

After years and years of racial discrimination and derogatory statements, my family has persevered, and are residing in and around Venice, California. We are members and affiliates of the JACL to this date, and, I guess it’s safe to say that we’re managing up to this point. As my aunt said, “It happened, and it was an experience, but it doesn’t bother me anymore.” I guess we just “moved on.” It’s no use holding fast to it and not letting go; that would only serve as a burden; extra baggage. We just accept it and continue with our lives, like the passing of a storm or something.

Letters

• Sponto - Gina Graham
• Heroic Story – maryjanie

————

Sponto

Dear Beachhead,

Infinite thanks to your pub for the front page, top shelf stories about Sponto. I knew him 15 years ago, when I was a young, tan, boardwalk skater he invited in for a puff. Now I’m a pasty Oregon mom, but I have never forgotten my afternoons with Sponto, sipping red wine in the middle of the day and giving each other foot rubs while watching the beauty of Venice roll by. If it’s at all possible to obtain a paper copy of this issue, I would be eternally grateful. Just let me know what I can do to make it happen.

Peace & Gratitude~

Gina Graham, Eugene, Oregon

———–

Heroic Story

Dear Beachhead,

Saturday someone came out to our “african drum circle” and dropped off some paper copies. I just now read front page article and loved it !!!! but find title of article misleading tho it may be a lure…I think a more adept but alluring title would have been more appropriate to trusting the Beachhead’s mission and ideals.

However, the poetry-form informative article, totally believable, was just great…an uplift into being EMPOWERED even with mere terra cotta flower pots or whatever is at hand…in these days of all the news telling us we are going into stupidity, bail outs, darkness, and help-less-futility-ness.

One woman, acting intuitively courageously [these go together, we know ] in a dangerous and other-life saving situation is a good example to the rest of us who hopefully don’t have to do just that that we too can do “something! anything! whatever is available at that moment of time/place“ should any need arise. And as our IRAs, CD bank accounts, and employment decay and disappear, our insecurity explodes…and this heroic story reminds us that we too can “do something !“ at any time in any way…no matter what is happening w/o our control “out there.”

Good writing, good placement, good publishing, good work. don’t stop!

maryjanie, artist, writer, reporter too

Venice Affordable Housing Fight Goes to Washington

By Mark Lipman

On Friday March 20, approximately 100 low income tenants and community organizers from the Holiday Venice apartments, also known as Breeze Del Mar, the largest block of affordable housing units remaining in Venice met at the First Baptist Church, to send off eight of their community leaders to Washington DC to meet with HUD and congressional officials, to plead their case for saving the 264 units.

Community activists working together with POWER (People Organized for Westside Renewal), http://www.power-la.org spoke on the need to preserve the integrity of our Venice community; to protect and expand the affordable housing base we have; and to work together in combating the failed government policies that lead to homelessness. Chris Gabriele of POWER was quoted as saying, “The number one solution to homelessness is housing … the number two solution also happens to be housing.”

From the meetings in DC, the Venice tenants gained renewed support from both Senators Feinstein and Boxer, as well as Congresswoman Maxine Waters and an aide to Rep. Jane Harman. In a White House meeting, Venice organizers also spoke with the director of HUD, who said no approval of pre-payments on the low-income apartments would be given until a thorough review of the case was made.

Residents fight back against S.M. Airport

By Karl Abrams

The intolerable noise and sickening jet fuel pollution coming from thousands upon thousands of private jets taking off and landing at the Santa Monica airport yearly has pushed residents to their limit once again. With their hands over their ears, a nauseating metallic taste in their mouth and fears mounting over the unexplainable absence of runway safety areas around the airport, people are crying out “No more! Send the jets to LAX where they belong!”

Closing the airport has been an ongoing and contentious issue for a long time. The Santa Monica City Council passed a resolution calling for the closing of the airport back in 1981 even though “legal obligations (with the Federal Aviation Administration) may keep it open until the year 2015.” (Beachhead, Nov. 1981, pgs. 6-7)

If you would like to join the fight against jets flying below FAA elevation limits, causing noise, chemical pollution and an ongoing threat to the safety of the community, please e-mail venicesky@me.com ASAP to have your name added to a petition to stop this insanity.

Beachhead Women Writers Rock Out at Beyond Baroque

By Krista Schwimmer

On March 8th, as part of the day long celebration of International Women’s Day, the Beachhead presented readings from past and current women writers of the Beachhead at Venice’s poetry haven, Beyond Baroque.

The event started at 7:30 pm with Suzanne Thompson leading the way as emcee. Suzanne immediately charmed the audience with a story of her skirt and boots. She then set the intention of creating a welcoming atmosphere for the evening ahead.

The women writers participating from the Beachhead were: Amy Dewhurst, Peggy Lee Kennedy, Antonieta Villamil, Emily Winters, Krista Schwimmer and Lynn Bronstein.

Amy, wearing a shockingly pink girl-dress, started the readings off with a reflection on the last 100 years for women. All the participants gave 110 percent to their performances, reading such poems as “Feminist Lasagna” (Peggy Lee) and “If Bob Dylan Was a Girl” (Lynn Bronstein). Antoineta Villamil gave a stormy, passionate performance of her pieces, speaking at times in english and at other times in spanish. Before the night was over, Suzy Williams and Kathy Leonardo stirred everyone up with their songs. At one point, Suzy had the whole crowd joining her in the well-known Carol Fondiller song “Too Poor to Live Here”.

The Beachhead men were also there, giving their full support by collecting money, manning the tables with Beachhead posters and t-shirts for sale, and blending into the audience. (All but Don who was his usual devil-me-care self!)

There was plenty of food, largely contributed by “Food Not Bombs”, and red wine, adding to the night as food and wine will always do.

Despite the somewhat small turn-out, the folks who attended appeared to truly enjoy the event, with a number of women reading at the open mic. One woman who read at the open mic had not read for many years. Another young woman danced and moved as she spoke her words.

Thanks goes to Beyond Baroque for hosting the event; to Suzanne Thompson for her gracious role as emcee; to Peggy Lee Kennedy for the yummy food; to all the participants for their tremendous enthusiasm; and to the community for their past, present, and (we know!) future support.

Please stay tuned for more intoxicating Beachhead events to come!!

New Music Venue in Venice – The Stronghold

By Carol Gronner

Did you know there’s a new live music venue on Abbot Kinney Boulevard? You may not. I didn’t. But I think that’s about to change. You can’t have as great a space as the upstairs of Stronghold and not have the word get out. Yes, the Stronghold (1625 A.K.B.) that sells spendy custom jeans and dapper gent hats, suspenders, fly shoes and so forth. But UP the side staircase is a wonderful new space to hear live music! And it’s big and classy and – Wow.

My enlightening came last Saturday when I got an email from my pal Tom Freund saying he was playing a local show (REAL local), so see you there. “The Stronghold?”, I thought. Where are they gonna squeeze in the Freund Fans there? I had no idea there was a speakeasy style venue going on right under my nose! So I biked on over there Saturday night, just in time to catch Christopher Hawley treating everyone (and it was packed) to his Johnny Cash-ish vocals and strumming. Most of my pals were already there, enjoying the open bar – which curiously became a $5 “donation” – something the poster did not share. There must be some permit-type problems to deal with regarding alcohol sales, but you probably shouldn’t lure people there with a $15 cover that includes drinks, and then sneak the “donation” thing on them. Not in this economy, Sirs. But I’ll digress back to the super-positive now …), and the LOCAL music scene.

It’s a big room, centered by a huge iron circular staircase. I have no idea where it led, but it was a very cool backdrop for the stage, that’s for sure. There were other little rooms off the main room, with leather couches and chairs, a little more darkened in case you wanted to make out or just chill with less elbows bumping you.

A black door on the side, opened up into a MASSIVE backyard (Seriously huge. You could practically have the whole Street Fair back there), set up with tables and couches and candles and tons of people on a smoke break. A fire escape style stairway led down to the concrete yard, and more people hung out on it than the big area below. Because people are funny like that. Much like how we all squeeze into the kitchen at a house party. Something homier about it, maybe.

After that bit of exploring, the next duo came on, The Leftover Cuties. They were a boy and girl team, she singing and he playing a darling ukulele. They were very retro, nostalgic even, but with a NOW vibe of Cool. I bet they turn up on a noir-style film soundtrack very soon. In the meantime, why not catch a preview of their jazzy cuteness at: http://www.myspace.com/leftovercuties and I’ll bet you a $5 donation at the next show that you’ll be in a better mood after.

By the time Tom Freund and his band took the stage, I was in a GREAT mood. I hadn’t seen Tom play in a while, as he’s been busy with stuff like opening for Ben Harper around the world, releasing his album, Collapsible Plans (http://www.tomfreund.com/disc.htm – Enjoy!), or else playing East of Lincoln venues. So now we were ready for some jams from the man that COULD be a one-man band (Guitar. Piano. Mandolin. Stand Up Bass. Harmonica. Ridiculous.) but this night he had with him the amazingly haired and vastly talented Chris Lovejoy on drums, Gabe Noel laying down the electric bass lines, Matt Pzsonak ripping up the electric and lap-steel guitars, and the sublime and powerful backing vocals of Ms. CC White. We felt lucky.

They tore through a set list that covered songs old (Classic, rather) and brand new: “Business of Knowing”, “Collapsible Plans” (as recently seen on The Carson Daly show w/Ben Harper), “Unwind”, and the gorgeous “Copper Moon”. Next was “Why Wyoming”, and then the Stand Up Bass came out. You get credit just for lugging it around, but when you can pluck it apart like Mr. Freund, it is EXTRA credit. Phew. He treated us to Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” first, and then had the whole audience snapping along like old school hepcats during, “Leavin’ Town.”

It was great to glance around and see so many familiar Venice faces, but also a whole lot of new ones. One girl from San Francisco said, “I had no idea Southern California could be so cool” – you know how they can be when they don’t get all the sunshine we do. I was happy she’d go back North with fresh tales to tell about our town (as long as they don’t want to move here and build more ridiculous condos).

A personal favorite (because I’m a Viking), “Trondheim”, came next, followed by a stint at the piano for Tom on a lovely, though thought-provoking tune called “Concessions”. I was standing next to Tom’s wife, Francie when the opening notes to her namesake tune began. “Francie” is not only crazy-catchy, but also features the sickest mandolin solo you’ll ever hear. Tom’s hand is an absolute blur when he strums that thing at the end, and you can see peoples’ eyeballs leaving their heads to see such a little instrument shredded so hard. And CC’s vocal instrument was probably shredded as well, after the acrobatics it showed off. It may just have been my Freund Favorite of the evening.

Now that the kids in the hall were a little more greased, it was time for a Dead cover, “Tennessee Jed”, which found Tom back on the Stand Up Bass. “Summer of ‘92” brought us back to a time when the biggest worries we had were whether we had Lollapalooza tickets. It was all good again, and the band left the stage.

Some shrill whistles and rhythmic clapping later, the boys and CC returned to lead a sing-along on the classic Beatles number, “Help From My Friends”. I might have stopped right there, as everyone was dancing and all happily riled up, so much so that there had to be mad shushing for the very cool, but very quiet, “True Mellow”, that was to be the last song of the night. Kind of rude, but fairly understandable too, after being all rocked up right before.

More whistles, more yelling, more Jack – but alas, the music portion of the evening was over. As we filed out to continue our Saturday night adventures, people were all talking about how great the show had been, how cool the space was, how they can’t wait until the next event there. I talked to a manager of The Stronghold, and he said the goal is to become sort of The Hotel Cafe of the West Side.

That is fantastic news to someone who often makes that pilgrimage to the East side venue. If we can lure some of those Hollywood bands to the beach, I may never have to drive in L.A. again.

Fellow citizens of the People’s Republic Of Venice … things are looking up already! Check it out. To get yourself on the mailing list for future events, sign up at WS@TheStonghold.com. See you there!

3 Super-Simple Social Speedways To Save The Earth!

By Amy Dewhurst

We’ve all heard the slogans “Earth Day Everyday” but for those of us lucky enough to live in this beautiful beach side city, where the bulk of our activities are outside; beneath the sun, above the sand, here are 3 Super-Simple, Social ways to Save The Earth.

Eat Local Organic Produce – With the Venice, Santa Monica and Mar Vista Farmers Markets within a walk, buying local, organic produce is an easy, fun, healthy way to do your grocery shopping.

Here’s Why; Despite new diseases popping up daily and the death rate for cancer at a shocking 565,650 per year the standard practice of American (and International) Farmers STILL involves the use of billions of pounds of pesticides annually. When chemical pesticides are used to kill pests, they often also kill the microorganisms that contain carbon contained in the soil. With the reduction of microorganisms the soil is no longer naturally fertile and therefore chemical fertilizers are regrettably required. That means we are literally ingesting upwards of 3,000 strains of toxic chemical per each pound of fresh veggies. In addition to maintaining your health, buying locally inhibits transportation needs, thereby drastically reducing the CO2 emissions.

Bike To Work (School, The Waves) – Whether you believe in the global warming phenomenon or not, no one can dispute Los Angeles is amongst the worst air quality nationally. There are approximately 12 million single car drivers on our freeways daily. Help reduce that number by biking, skating, walking or even cart wheeling to work, school, or the strand. A typical 10 mile trip uses approximately .5-2.5 gallons of gasoline, burning 1 gallon of gasoline equates 20+ pounds of carbon dioxide burned/emitted into the environment. That’s the thankless work of thousands of trees—Vanished! Help the trees, the air, the sig alerts and your inner thighs by hitting the beach side bike path. All of the above will thank you!

*Annual “Bike To Work Day” is May 14th-Join The Fun!

Beach Clean – In 2007 the California Coastal Commission reported 900,000 pounds of garbage removed from our State Beaches by volunteers. Now imagine if they didn’t volunteer, where would that garbage be? There’s an old 60s saying “You are either part of the problem or part of the solution.” Next time you are watching the sunset at the breakwater why not pick up a few (dozen) cigarette butts, straws, plastic bags or refuse. It’s a simple way of honoring the ocean and our humble beachside city.

*The Surfrider Foundation hosts the Annual Earth Day Beach Clean. Saturday April 18th. 9-11 a.m. Meet-Up in Lot 5 South.

President Obama and Mr. Abajo

By Jim Smith

Down (abajo) goes the economy. In comes Barack Obama. Can he charm the economy into reviving? Is he embracing Corporate America while turning his back on the left-leaning people who elected him? Is it a trap that the rich have cleverly lured him into?

Half way through his first hundred days in office, Obama is still a breathe of fresh air after the stinky fascist smell of his predecessors. Even if he did nothing, most Americans would just be happy that he is not George Bush. But beware the fickleness of the crowd, Barack. Today’s hero can easily become tomorrow’s bum.

It’s a slippery path that our hero must walk. On the one hand, he wants to satisfy the demands of the money crowd on Wall Street. On the other hand, most of us cannot understand why he would cater to those whose greed brought the whole economy down.

Since John Kennedy’s brief tenure at the helm, no President has challenged the rich and powerful on foreign or domestic issues. As a result, a entire generation of blue bloods have been born believing that the U.S. government belongs to them. Not a hint of class struggle has sullied their “can-do” congress and white house. For the most part, Obama went along with the upper crust – either willingly or through coercion – when he made his appointments to key government positions. Change is seldom a priority for those who sit astride a global empire like the United States.

However, these appointments have caused a fair amount of consternation among Obama’s supporters. Most of his activists are on the left of the political spectrum to one extent or another. But the only appointment Obama has made who can fairly be said to be on the left is Hilda Solis, Secretary of Labor. We didn’t expect him to appoint Ralph Nader as Secretary of Commerce, but what about Dennis Kucinich, Bernie Sanders, Barbara Lee, Lynn Woosley, or any of the other 71 members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus. John Conyers, who has been the leading voice in the House for universal, single-payer health insurance couldn’t even wrangle an appointment to Obama’s blue-ribbon committee on health care.

Four More Years of George Bush?

It seems like we are waking up from an eight-year-long bad dream. Thank you Barack Obama for not being George W. Bush. But, while Obama has reversed many of Bush’s most lame brained policies, he has moved cautiously, or not at all, on issues of importance to the left, including domestic spying, normalizing relations with Cuba (even Nixon normalized relations with Communist China), the so-called wars on terror and on drugs and he is on record for expanding the war in Afghanistan.

Voters told Obama they did not want four more years of George Bush, but repeal of the cornerstone of Bushism, the Patriot Act, does not even seem to be on the agenda of the Obama administration. Nothing since the Alien and Sedition Acts of 200 years ago, has drawn the line between people’s sovereignty and government control as has the Patriot Act. When it is repealed, Americans will know that our fragile democracy has a new lease on life.

The Depression – How to get in deeper

The world economic depression has many causes. Among them are the mortgage crisis, the energy crisis, the global warming crisis, and now, the credit crisis. But down deep, it is an overproduction crisis, with too many goods and services chasing too few customers. They can’t even give those GM cars away. Well actually, they could give them away but they won’t. Just like they won’t give away excess food. Let it rot in the warehouses. And they won’t open all the empty new houses (or Lincoln Place) to people who desperately need a place to live. It’s just not the capitalist way.

There are also too many financial speculators, banks, investment houses, insurance companies and other leeches on the American public. As mentioned above, they have their claws on the government’s resources. In order to reduce the overproduction, and let the economy rebuild itself, a lot of the excess capacity has to be destroyed. That means auto companies, financial companies, banks and bloodsuckers like AIG have to be allowed to go bankrupt and dissolve. Only then can supply and demand get back on kilter. At the same time, the social safety net has to be strengthened to protect innocent workers from poverty, hunger and despair.

The massive Bush and Obama bailouts have done more harm than good by propping up insolvent banks and wall street companies. Their continued existence will just make it harder for the economy to bottom out and recover. The hundreds of billions should have gone to the victims of casino capitalism (what we’ve had for the past 15 years or so).

How Obama can become the greatest president of all time

Unemployment insurance should be cranked up to at least 50 percent of people’s previous salaries, as is done in some European countries. There should be a moratorium on foreclosures and evictions where renters are struggling to pay more than 25 percent of their income to mortgage companies and landlords. A massive jobs and reconstruction program like the 1930s WPA should begin hiring immediately.

The federal government should set up immediate tent cities across the country until everyone can be placed in adequate housing. Adequate food and health care should be declared every person’s right, whether they can afford it or not. Service centers with a food bank, doctors and nurses, psychological counseling, job and housing referrals could be set up and staffed in every community for far less money than is currently being thrown at the banks.

When will the Depression be over?

The short answer is never. That is, the economy will never return to the conditions before September 2008. The U.S. has enjoyed a privileged position in the world economy that is no longer justified by its economic strength.

In March, U.S. auto companies bragged about their new labor agreement with the once-mighty United Auto Workers (UAW). According to the March 11 New York Times, Ford’s new employment agreement would “bring its labor costs into line with what foreign competitors pay their workers in the United States.” The race to the bottom of the economic ladder continues. Before the depression is over, U.S. workers will envy their opposite numbers in Europe and parts of Asia for their high wages.

The golden age for the United States began after World War II when it produced one-half of the entire gross world product (everything produced in the world). Today, it’s down to 18 percent. China, Russia and India have the three fastest growing economies in the world. By the end of the depression, the golden age will likely be a memory, on its way to becoming a myth – like Atlantis.

How you can benefit from the Depression

Congress has just passed another extension to the number of weeks you can collect unemployment insurance. You are now eligible for 59 weeks of paid leave – a sabbatical – of up to $475 per week. You still have to look for work now and then, but otherwise this is a golden opportunity to take a breather, develop your skills, catch up on your reading, take walks on the beach, volunteer with the Beachhead, and in general, become a more rounded person than you were back at the daily grind.

Two or three people who are living together on unemployment should be able to pay the rent and utilities. Don’t feel bad about improving and enjoying yourself while collecting the dole. Remember, it’s insurance. You, your parents, grandparents and everyone else on your family tree has contributed to building the wealth of society. Now is the time to receive a small dividend. Don’t turn up your nose at a year off with pay.