Journal Entry for February 2003

February 10, 2003

Bret Harte Junior High School

When I entered Bret Harte Junior High School in South Central Los Angeles, I was 12 years old. I successfully passed the 6th grade and graduated from elementary school. I had an older brother named Chuck who was in the ninth grade. Elementary school in South Central went from kindergarten to the 6th grade, and Junior High School went from 7th grade through the 9th grade. My brother acted out his anger by being the tough guy of the school. He used to drink and come to school, but I looked up to him because he seemed so tough and respected in the school. My father gave my brother the charge that he was to not let anyone hurt me. My father threatened my brother that if he let any one beat me he would strap him with his belt. My brother and I knew how severe these beatings could be, so it must have scared him and made him angry with me. I remember when I started middle school that a teacher asks me if I was going to be like my brother. She said that he was a troublemaker and that the kids he ran around with were always jumping other kids and beating them up. She also said that he was in trouble a lot because he shows up to school with alcohol on his breath. I was proud that he was a nonconformist, but I guaranteed her that I would not be a troubled teenager. Entering Bret Harte Junior High School was frightening to me but I felt safe because I had an older brother to protect me. He was at the school one more year, then he graduated and moved on to high school.

I remember when my brother decided not to be my protector. I was running from members of a Hispanic gang. Seeing my brother and his friends, I ran to their car, and my brother told me he was not going to protect me anymore. He told me that I needed to learn to take care of myself. My brother was 15 years old, and he was getting married in six months. He would be leaving to live on his own, so he was not worried about my father beating him with the belt. He was too old now and too violent for my father to discipline him with his violent parenting style.

My brother got married at 16 years old. The Los Angeles Examiner reported that it was the youngest wedding ever to take place in Los Angeles at that time. It was 1954, and there was not a person over 16 years old in the wedding party. I loved my brother, and I hated to see him leave home. He became an electrician apprentice and flourished in his trade while I floundered and became a troubled teenager.