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| Excerpt from STORMY WEATHER |
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By the time I entered Lafayette Square and pulled up
to my uncle Syl's large, Mediterranean-style house, I was
so furious I could barely enjoy the quiet of the tree-lined
streets or appreciate the icicle lights that hung from my
uncle's roof. The residents of Lafayette Square, an upper-middle
class, mostly black neighborhood southwest of Hancock Park,
received permission a few years before to erect barriers
to stop wholesale cruising down their stately tree-lined
streets—and, according to their detractors, to separate
themselves from the hoi polloi just outside the square's
half dozen or so blocks. The riots had made Sylvester Curry
and his neighbors look incredibly farsighted—even though
they, like the myriad of other Angelenos doing the same
thing all over the city, had to bear the brunt of public
opinion and the cost of installing and maintaining the barricades
they so desperately wanted.
If you would like to read more of STORMY WEATHER check it
out in the Books
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