www.veniceartscouncil.org

By Rune Girshfeld

The police have been sounding out the possibilities for “sweeping” the streets since last October.  October 21, 2009 was the first instance in which I personally heard usage of that inhumane and notorious metaphor to refer to removing the vehicularly homed and sidewalk sleepers from the streets in Venice.  Two policewomen came banging upon my door, shining blinding lights upon my face, before beginning the foundation of a soon to be elaborate refrain.  This basic refrain was that the street would very soon be “cleaned” or “swept,” because there had been complaints.  They had been informed (by residents, the chief, Councilman Rosendahl, the city, or some presumably authoritative someone) that “this street” is a problem and that the police have been told to soon (at 4 a.m., next week, just plain soon) “sweep” the street.  If it is a vehicle, it will be towed (though, presumably, not the cars of Digital Domain employees or Gold’s Gym clients). They always assure me (forcefully) that I could be arrested, ticketed, right now for illegally living in a vehicle (85.02 LAMC), but that has yet to happen. They say that they are constantly marking tires on my street in anticipation of 72-hour parking violations.

While the particulars of the refrain are disturbing enough on paper, the threatening and intimidating delivery of this message is truly inhumane.

Bright lights and loud banging service for a “hello.” I have often had to request numerous times before the police have identified themselves as such.  The first words are usually a yelled, “come out!” The yelling and banging quickly escalates in volume and force. Within 10 seconds they are introducing an intention to break down the door. While you would think that they could only do such a thing if they have a reasonable suspicion of a crime occurring, this is the opening tone in my police interactions. They show up in pairs, or a gang of pairs.  They fire rapid questions about who is inside, what is inside, what is being hidden. In support of the questions, they assure me that they know that I am hiding someone or something. My driver’s license is sent to be checked against my criminal record. They say, again and again, that I am a problem, that I have to leave, that I am here illegally, that they know that I am here illegally.

Despite the specifics of who has sent them, the point is hammered home that I am unwanted, that everyone in power has decided that I will be gone. I, of course, am never someone with power or say.

They let me know, always, that they have the power to arrest, ticket, tow me. They question what I do all day, what I am doing now. They ask for my address, and, not having one, accuse and question rapidly in hopes (I imagine) that I admit that I am criminally living in a vehicle. They allude to the time I must spend at the beach. They ask whether I have a job by stating that I don’t or giving an example of what I must do all day with my “friends” on the street. They surround me like a gang. They speak sarcastically (“why don’t you park at your job?”).  They laugh when I desperately repeat questions (“who ordered you to sweep?” “what does ‘sweep’ mean?” “who was at that meeting with Rosendahl?”) that they choose not to answer. They notice and laugh when they see my hands shaking as I try to write down their names that they give me with a sneer.

This happened most recently to me on January 7. When I asked who was knocking on my door, the answer was “your best friend.” There were four police surrounding me. They stated that I had been parked over 72 hours. I knew this was a lie, but I was frightened by just how insistently they kept to this fiction. I wondered whether they were hoping to tow me then and there or whether it was sufficiently useful for them to suggest they had power beyond the facts of the situation, and that they could create the story themselves.

They asked me whether I knew that I was breaking the law, and laughed when I asked them to cite the law. Only one of them knew offhand the specific number and letter of the law. They said that they were just coming from a town hall-style meeting with Bill Rosendahl in which the residents of Venice expressed that they wanted the streets to be cleaned (of the homeless). The residents were very angry. The residents don’t want these vehicles here. They had been ordered to clean them (me) out. They said that they just worked their way west from Lincoln. They talked to me in this way for half an hour. I don’t know why they left. I suppose that I seemed sufficiently afraid, that I would probably move. Perhaps they gave up on trying to find a pretense to ticket, tow, or arrest me, as I have no criminal record. My van is legal to park. So, they did finally leave, but not without reminding me that next time they would be ticketing, towing, and arresting, that the street would be swept, in the end.

It is with terrible difficulty that I try to remember the details of that evening. My hands tremble as I write. When I related this story to the few people of confidence that I have, the trembling returned, flowering forth from the roots of a particularly terrifying experience that has followed years of intimidation and the stress of being a closet homeless. I have slept poorly, awakening when I hear an engine idling ominously near. No one has been quite able to assure me that the law against living in a vehicle is not viable, though I can’t imagine it viable to persecute people for whom living in a vehicle is a much more favorable option to living on the street. Still I have so much to lose.

I have a reason for my fear, something more precious than my self to lose. I have a child. My van is the only home that my child has known. There are toys, books, clothes, photos. My child was angry enough when the bed was switched from longways to shortways in the rectangular room of space available to us. How would my child feel if our home was towed away, perhaps right in front of us? How would my child feel to be treated, or see Mama treated the way that I was most recently? Luckily my child has managed to miss or be asleep during so many incidents of police or “residents” yelling at us from outside our home, leaving threatening notes, calling us “homeless,” an identity that no child should have to shoulder.

My child has a home, a family. We have neighbors who live in similar homes. Between us we have a remarkably generous and empathetic community on our street. When we have had car trouble, they have helped us push-start it, or fix it with $5 and ingenuity. When we forgot to lock our door, they assured us that it had been safe all day.  My child goes to school. I work full-time as a teacher and mother full-time. At our school, Venice “resident” children play with my child, sans economic apartheid. My child dances to show tunes, writes first-person fictions in home-made books, sings almost constantly out of happiness. There is no lived part of my child’s life where that name, “homeless,” is used or useful, only potentially hurtful and traumatic.

I am not ashamed of living in a van, even as a mother. My child is well cared for. I tire my physical body daily in the good tasks that nurture human life. I do not accept that I am a criminal when I sleep, wearied and well-worn for all that I have breathed and moved. When I sleep, my body may just as well sink into that earth below us, joined underneath for all of our streets and property lines. It is in that place where the deep waters flow that nourish my seeded and rising to flourish soul. I have the grace of any human to forget the angles of myself, whereupon they may be. I have a right to dissemble in the night. I have a right to drift in that sleepy ocean that belongs to no one. I am not ashamed for sleeping, for having a home, for attempting to give safely these blessings to my child.

I am ashamed of any one who has so compromised their humanity that they could deny me, and my child, this very thing which we all need. I am ashamed of policemen who allow themselves to be used to persecute people who often suffer from the same misfortunes and vices available to any human being. I am ashamed of police who give blatantly bogus tickets, promise to arrest, ticket, or tow even when there is no legal basis for doing so. I am ashamed of a police force which acts without honor, without factuality, without any sense of personal humanity. I am ashamed of Bill Rosendahl, who would, at best, be so simple as to be ignorant of the actions that follow from secretive “town hall” meetings, so simple as to be ignorant of how his own name is used to terrify people who have no representation, no voice, in the political arena.

I am ashamed of the residents who can live so long next to criminally-poor people and yet still be able to say it is an issue of parking, sanitation, security. Don’t they know that among the unlanded people around them are some who are taking care of their children, preparing their food? Do they know how their name is used? Do those legitimate and verified “residents” know that the homeless preemptively ghettoize themselves onto streets like 7th, 4th, 3rd, Rose, etc. because they’re afraid of the abuse that is coming from these residents? I am ashamed that, out of all of the important identities a person may have (mother, teacher, artist, Venetian, consumer, tax-payer, human being) the outwardly imposed identity of “homeless” trumps them all.

I fought so long, adamant that I would not let this “homelessness” be a knot that would twist upon the fabric of my life. I’ve been afraid, terrified, traumatized by my experiences with authority and angry “residents.” I still tremble, but, I feel, somewhere in the vibrancy of this trembling, is arising a rhythm, making time with that primal beating of my heart. My fear, my trembling, grows firm when mixed with the rage of one who can retreat no further. I am a mother. I can be pushed quite far, but a child is a sacred being. I warn us all to examine carefully the direction in which all of this is going, the nature of the beast before us, and the dark underbelly of this overly factionalized social war. I won’t stay silent. I won’t submit. I will stop cowering, and when I open myself with all of my heart and integrity to what is before me, I have great hope for what may come. This intimidation by the police, the residents, is forging something strong, potent, in me, and I’m readying myself for what may come. I don’t think that I’m the only one. I know that I am not the only one.

P.S. The streets have been looking sparser over the following weeks. I was unable to witness and document reported towings, as I am often away. People have been for all purposes disappeared by the removal of their homes. On Jan. 21, I observed a van towed under supervision of Officer Skinner and her partner. Later Skinner “favored” a parolee with the information that the street would be swept at 4 o’clock. I did not witness any sweeping happening although someone told me that some homeless were kicked off of the sidewalk, but I am not sure. The next day, I heard that Skinner and partner targeted one section of my street to intimidate, again giving 4 o’clock as the time of the sweeping. One gentleman on the street related that also, on this day, he was told to leave or Skinner (and partner) would return with a truck and throw his things in the garbage.

By Lydia Poncé

Residents of Oakwood’s 15 low-income buildings known as Holiday Venice Apartments, and community members, packed the Annex Room at Oakwood Park, Feb. 23, to hear what Carol Galante Assistant Deputy Housing and Urban Development (HUD) Secretary, had to say about preserving their homes. These apartments are homes for mostly single working mothers, working families, and disabled seniors.  The apartments have a long history of human rights struggle to keep them affordable.

Gallante, appointed by the Obama’s Administration, came to hear a panel of Venice’s best: Ollie Jones; Violetta Hudson, Vice President Holiday Tenants Association; Jataun Valentine, Actionist; Rosa Arevalo, P.O.W.E.R. Board Member; and Kendra Moore, President of Tenants’ Association.

Could the panel convince Galante to work with the 246 families to purchase the buildings from the owner, Gregory Perlman of GH Capital.  Perlman is the fourth owner of Holiday Apartments.

The tenants want to purchase the complex, but need HUD to raise its subsidy per unit from $1,000 to $2,000 per month to finance the mortgage. If the tenants are unable to buy the buildings, then they want HUD to require a 55-year contract with the present owner, Perlman, to keep the buildings affordable.

Last year, Perlman was granted permission by HUD to pre-pay his current contract to HUD, an illegal transaction according to the Holiday Tenants’ lawyers. This early pre-pay by Perlman to HUD resulted in three law suits that are awaiting their day in court.

Galante told the tenants that she has only been on the job for nine months as Assistant Deputy. She said “Venice’s affordable housing issue is nothing new to me.” But she could not make a commitment on the spot that HUD would help.

Will the results of Galante’s visit to Venice be a new contract for 246 families for another 20 years? The Holiday Tenants still deserve to own their home and make a claim to their future. The struggle will no doubt continue, after all, Venice needs to keep these buildings for the Oakwood community.

• Is anyone else out there? – Mary Getelin
• Oakwood Park – Laddie Williams
• Police Sweep the Beach – Mark Lipman

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Is anyone else out there?

Dear Beachhead,

A young man I know is in jail, partly because he is Salvadorean, and is harassed for “driving while Mexican.”

He needs to have a new public defender, reduced bail and be bailed out.

Is anyone else out there?

Has anyone else been unfairly arrested, harassed, set up, entrapped or just plain tricked into getting a ticket? Then the ticket goes to a warrant and you’re in traffic court with a very cranky judge lecturing you on the California budget. No more community service- still gotta pay the whole fine, $640.00 bicycle ticket or a guy who obviously has a drug problem has a public defender who is trying to get him 8 years and won’t do a drug deferment. Public Defender says, “Well who knows if you can stay clean or not!” This P.D. working is not working for her client! She wants him jailed for 8 years!

Lliana needs to have him at the birth of their baby. Most people with money have had adult children with drug problems. But they are also able to bail them out, get them a really good lawyer, mount a credible defense, admit to having harmed oneself, get a drug deferment and go to rehab. Hopefully rehab and the birth of a new son or daughter will turn Norberto’s life around. I’ve met Norberto, and he was a very nice, sweet young man. The family accepted him immediately,

When I was all freaked about getting evicted with last year’s “new owner”, he went back to work, wrote down all this information on my rights, told it to me in a very slow fashion, gave me this piece of paper with all my rights written on it- gave me a big smile,”Don’t worry Mary, we’ll all help you, whatever happens. You can come to O.P.C.C. and we’ll get you a section 8 Housing Voucher in sixty days and help you find a new place to live.”

So you know how it was in the old days- the 70’s? People would go to door to door asking for $10 to bail someone out of jail. This is how you know you are in a community or not, when you ask for help. Does anybody answer? We’re asking for help. We know you all and love you all.

Thank you, Love,    Mary Getlein

PS. I love the Beachhead!!! It helps your mind to use it!!!

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Oakwood Park

Dear Beachhead,

As I came home from work at 4:54pm on Feb. 19, Oakwood Park was surrounded by CRASH and LAPD. Venice’s young teens were being harassed and were patted down. LAPD told them they ‘are in the Venice Shoreline Crips’ (VSLC) and continued to treat the teens as gang members because they were at Oakwood.

Isn’t this too much? Isn’t this insidious? Isn’t our park where teens should be? Isn’t this what a class park teen program is supposed to be about? Is this Venice’s Teen Program?

Many of the young men told CRASH they are in a basketball league at Oakwood. This got a response from one of LAPD Officers, “The powers inside stated that you’re loitering and causing the community grief because you are standing around at the park.”

We know who that is inside the park, and it needs to stop. The Oakwood Park Advisory Board (PAB) needs to speak about this so the community can let CRASH know, ‘they need to go to Los Angeles where people are being killed on a daily basis.’ Oakwood Park is for everyone!

Laddie Williams

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Police Sweep on the Beach

Dear Beachhead,

On Thursday night, February 12, 2010, the day before the start of the long Valentine’s Day weekend, the LAPD made a massive sweep of Venice Beach.  At three o’clock in the morning anyone who was sleeping or destitute was taken into police custody – reminiscent of Oakwood 2006.

Locked away safely in cages throughout the city, counting the slow drip of time, the unlucky finding themselves in L. A. County Jail – with nothing to eat, but soggy, stale peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, for five days straight.

“I’ve heard of some horror stories at county,” says one guy caught in the net.  Later in the day the same man would wind up having a epileptic seizure, because the guards refused to give him his medicine.

As Friday was a state furlow and Monday was President’s Day (now I know what it’s for), the soonest anyone would be able to be processed out would be Tuesday.

“I was just sleeping in the tennis courts – sleeping,” says a scruffy inmate listed as J. Smith (his real name was Mike).

“They’ve got us sitting around in paper pajamas,” says Anthony, now in his sixties, from his perch on the cold concrete floor.  He’s been through the wringer a few times.  This time around he was arrested for reading the newspaper.  ”It didn’t used to be like this,” he remembers.  ”And it’s completely illegal too.”

“What we need is a class action suit,” chimes in another scraggily elder.  ”But that takes money.”

“They did this once,” Anthony responded.  ”We sued.  Everyone got like $2,500.  The Supreme Court’s already ruled that it’s illegal, but they don’t care – they keep doing it.  It keeps the system going.”

And going it was, with upwards of thirty, forty musky men crammed into holding cells designed for ten – “Whites and Latinos” in one cell, “Blacks and Others” in another.  16 to 20 cells in all, with women’s cells included.

Officially the sweep took in fifty, however County Sheriffs were overheard saying one hundred.  100 false arrests.

And the processors didn’t care.  They were there to guide you through the steps and they didn’t tell you twice before they reminded you of where you were.  ”If you don’t like it,” snapped one female sheriff, “stay out of jail.”

Together with the regular weekend drinkers and fighters, all the way up the line, more than 600 cases needed to get through the court in one single day.

“Sure, they’re going to release us,” at 9PM, with no bus fare, from the LAX courthouse.  ”But who’s going to give me my time back?” Anthony demanded.  ”Our time has been stolen and no one cares!”

Mark Lipman

Environmentalists versus Playa Vista

It ain’t over, ‘til it’s over, might have been coined to describe the nearly 30 year fight to preserve the Ballona wetlands. The latest round began Feb. 24 when environmentalists submitted briefs to the Appellate Court alleging that the city of Los Angeles did not comply with the California Environmental Quality Act (CEQA) or the California Political Reform Act.

The briefs were filed by Attorney Todd Cardiff for the Grassroots Coalition and by conservationist John Davis. The case involves Playa Vista Phase I development and its demand for state groundwater resources.

Davis alleges that some Los Angeles City Council members and the City Attorney violated the California Political Reform Act. His brief claims that some City Council members took $126,150. from Playa Capital and individuals associated with it while the former City Attorney took $54,150 and then advised the city council on Playa Vista without disclosing the contribution. Davis says the city council members did not step aside when the city acted in favor of Playa Vista.

Should Davis and the Grassroots Coaltion be sucessful in their appeal, the court may order the city to comply with the California Environmental Quality Act (CEQA) and may take action to enforce the Political Reform Act by voiding city council actions on the Playa Vista project.

The city of Los Angeles and Playa Capital, et.al. have 75 days to respond.

-Jim Smith

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Vera Davis Center in Danger of Closing?

The word on the street is that the Vera Davis Center (VDC), 610 California Ave., will shut down March 31.

At press time this was still not confirmed and no one has informed Cliff McClendon and Eddie Nuno what exactly will happen to the Center.

How can it close? The City of L.A. is broke.  Both the Venice and Mar Vista Community benefit from the services housed at the VDC such as the Latino Resource Center, Venice Neighborhood Arts, Tech Team and Venice 2000. The VDC also shares the space with the community to have meetings such as – Alcoholics Anonymous and the Venice Neighborhood Council. VDC provides food distribution twice a month (See calendar on page 11). The VDC has holiday turkey and toy distribution for families in need. There are jobs posted, other resources and information. Until recently there was free internet at the center but when Time Warner Cable became the monopoly in the Venice area, this monster conglomerate discontinued the free internet service.

Venetians should stop in, visit the VDC, and check out the resources at the front door. See how you can volunteer, be of assistance, and be part of the solution in our neighborhood to keep this community center open.

Let’s get proactive and not wait until the City decision makers close this center down. Write a letter in support of the VDC and send it to Councilmember Bill Rosendahl and to Mayor Villaraigosa, let them know the VDC cannot be cut from the Venice community nor cut in the budget. We need the Vera Davis Youth  & Family Center, now more than ever. Call for more information: 305-1865.

The Center is housed in the old Venice Library and is named after the late Venice activist, Vera Davis McClendon.

–Lydia Poncé

By Jim Smith

What’s wrong with plastic bags? First, they are non-biodegradable, meaning they will outlast you, and the way things are going, the entire human race. They can blow away even if you put them in a garbage can. They can end up in a tree, on a fence, or worse, in a storm drain where they will soon be swept out to sea to eventually join billions of their kind in the Texas-sized North Pacific Gyre, otherwise known as the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, or the Pacific Trash Vortex. The BBC reports that a similar, but smaller, trash dump has recently been discovered in the Atlantic Ocean, east of the Bermuda islands. While churning around in mid-ocean, the bags break up into smaller and smaller bits of plastic. Unfortunately, sea birds, turtles and fish think the little bits of plastic are good to eat. Illness or death is often the result. What goes around, comes around, when humans eat fish that have toxic chemicals throughout their bodies from the plastic bags, they too get sick.

Most of these alarming facts about plastic bags are well-known. One would think that Americans would curtail their current annual use of 100 billion plastic bags (and 12 million barrels of oil) which make their way to the gyre or to land fills. Unfortunately, the main reaction from the public is indifference and the reaction of the plastic bag industry is to file suit against nearly every effort to reduce the use of the bags. A few cities have heeded their constituents and have taken steps to rein in “single use bags,” with varying success.

The most successful is San Francisco which has had a ban on plastic bags since 2007. San Francisco and Malibu and the only two cities in California not to feel the wrath of the plastic bag industry’s litigation. Manhattan Beach was not so lucky. The city’s ordinance against the bags was overturned by the courts. The industry sued on the grounds that the ordinance against plastic bags violated the California Environmental Quality Act (CEQA). Another case of amoral lawyers using an environmental law against the environment and bringing in the big bucks. Since then, cities and counties have been careful to create an Environmental Impact Report (EIR) before enacting a law that either bans or charges a fee for single use bags (whether plastic or paper).

Grocery stores are the main distributors of plastic bags. Beginning in 1977, we consumers gained the choice of paper or plastic bags. A touch choice. Should we destroy a forest or should we gum up the oceans? The familiar reframe at the checkout line was “paper or plastic?” That lasted for about a decade or so. Then we started getting plastic bags unless we asked for paper. There was a good economic incentive for sticking us with plastic. Environmental Engineer Coby Skye, with the County’s Dept. of Public Works says that plastic bags cost only one or two cents each while paper bags range from a nickel to eight cents.

Perhaps this is why a couple of weeks ago when I was in Ralphs Market at California and Lincoln, and again had forgotten to bring a cloth bag, I asked for paper bags, and was told that all they had was plastic. Imagine my surprise when I protested to the night manager (who I was sure would rectify the situation). Instead of sharing my alarm, she called security and had me escorted out of the store. The indignity! Never had I been 86ed from a second-class Ralphs before. But Venice is full of environ–mentally-conscious residents who must badger the Ralphs managers repeatedly. She must have been at the end of her tether.

Some of the grocery chains have made token efforts to reduce single use bags. Ralphs has “incentive” programs in some corporate divisions, however, they seem to be a fairly well-kept secrets. The Trader Joe’s at Palms and Sepulveda has a biweekly drawing you can enter if you used a cloth bag. The grand prize is $25! The “Captains” as the bosses are called tell me that each store has its own rules and prizes. Try to find a store that offers $30! Whole Foods, in spite of its anti-health care and anti-union attitudes has eliminated plastic bags from its stores. Smart and Final on Lincoln Blvd., on the other hand, offers only plastic bags. No paper. And Costco has no bags at all, only recycled boxes.

Still, it seems that government regulation is going to be required. Why not have a statewide law and be done with it? That’s been tried with no success so far. The last two bills were both bottled up in the Appropriations Committee. One bill, AB2449, did pass. It bans not plastic bags but instead bans local government from enacting a fee on plastic bag use. The plastic bag industry, like many large corporations, seems to be particularly strong in Sacramento.

Closer to home Venice cannot restrict plastic bags since we have no government at all (the neighborhood council doesn’t count). The city of Los Angeles has actually banned plastic bag use, but only in city facilities. According to City Councilmember Bill Rosendahl, the city is now waiting for action by the county before it proceeds. The county is putting the finishing touches on an EIR which could be used by all 88 cities in L.A. County.

County Supervisor Zev Yaroslavsky’s Senior Deputy Susan Nissen told the Beachhead that the Board of Supervisors would likely consider an ordinance in July or August of this year. While the County’s ordinance would only apply to unincorporated areas, such as Marina del Rey, it would set the tone for the city of L.A., Santa Monica and surrounding cities. A full ban in all of the county would eliminate around six billion bags per year.

Coby Skye says the county’s EIR will likely begin a 45-day public comment period next month. The EIR would give legal cover to either an outright ban on plastic bags and a fee for paper bags, or a fee on both plastic and paper. Skye believes a fee of 25 cents could drastically reduce the number of single use bags. Then, we might remember to bring our reusable bags with us. Perhaps the overriding question is how much is it worth to us to begin to save the oceans – and the planet.

What You Can Do:

1. Don’t use plastic bags.
2. Keep a reusable bag.
3. Support legislation to ban or charge a fee for single use bags.

By Carol Fondiller

People gathered on the rocks at Brooks Avenue Beach to remember a very important person.

The people who are moving in and building Valley-sized houses on Venice lots, whimpering that less than 2,000  square feet for a family is a slum, wouldn’t think  “Bingo” Bingham important at all.  In their eyes she was a failure –  Why?   Because she did not have a Cuisanart?    The city agencies and the Coastal Commission look upon people like Bingo as “unfeasible”.  And certainly low income housing is  “unfeasible”  because the property values have been artificially driven up by paper swapping speculators who drive up the value without one cent of real money changing hands  — “All done with mirrors, folks.”  But you have to be a success and success means money.  Go to jail for a few months for selling out the country, write your memoirs, make a mint — you’re a success.  Turn people onto LSD, snitch on your friends, jump bail, write a book — you’re a success.     You can live in Venice.  No others need apply.

But Venice is still an economically stable community, all economic classes still intermix.  Which means it’s a Home Town — a Home Town by choice.  You watch kids grow up and people grow up.  We see one another getting older.  The people who you left behind when you went on your search for whatever Holy Grail you had in mind will still be there when you come back.  Venice is a home for the rootless.  They’ll find someone they know.

A Home Town is where people come back to partake in ceremonies that mark rites of passages.  Births, christenings, brisses, weddings, all remind us of the fragility of human beings.

A Home Town is where people remember you after you die, even if you didn’t write the Great American Novel, shoot the President or give Johnny Carson the finger.

A Home Town is where you are immortal.  Venice is a Home Town.  The usual pace of change and attrition of people moving out, moving in and dying has been escalated by the City Planning Department and speculators.    But there were rocks at Brooks Beach to say good-bye to Benita “Bingo” Bingham, flower child, doer, dreamer, the bane of bureaucracy, Animal Regulation in particular.  Bingo was thirty years old when she was murdered.

Bingo striding down the front, swathed in scarves, taking a swig from a proffered short day, moving on and traveling light.  Bingo returning from the Valley, the desert Maine, running up to people, her arms outspread, shouting affectionate obscenities to her friends in a husky humorous voice.

Bingo describing another hair-raising close call with authorities or some crazy dude who picked her up hitchhiking, so that while the blood ran cold, the stomach ached from laughing.

Bingo, alley cat thin arms trashing in the garbage cans and wearing discards with the elegance of a queen. Bingo, her soft short hair curling around her small face, her eyes large and dark with fear as she was going to court to testify against the men who raped and beat her, uncomfortable in dealing with the police who had arrested her for vagrancy, now being helped by them to protect other women from similar, violent humiliation.

Bingo. A Person of the streets.

Bingo, whose veins had collapsed long ago from the needles she’d stuck in them.

Bingo was fresh and young when she came to Venice. Her skin was resillent and firm. She was pretty. She got involved with drugs. High on drugs and riding with a drugged up dope, she got into an accident. Her face was scarred, her teeth were knocked out. But heading down the Ocean Front Walk on a bike she’d borrowed from a friend with or without their knowledge, she was beautiful.

Bingo had a Samoan disregard for personal property. If she needed it, she’d take it. She didn’t steal it. Sometimes she’d lose what she’d borrowed, or it would be stolen from her. She’d try and replace it with something of equal value. Sometimes she borrowed that, and things would become quite complicated. It was sort of like the operations of Bert Lance. Bingo was alive,. Intense. Vulnerable. She understood other peoples grief and had a humorous objectivity about herself.  Periodically she would lose her false teeth in the surf, and she’d walk around with her mouth covered until Medi-Cal would come up with another pair.

Bingo would try, off and on, to keep a pad.  But she couldn’t stay in four walls very long.  On cold winter nights with the rain coming down in knife-sharp drops, Bingo would be seen wrapped up in blankets, her dog Beamer in her arms, fording, the ankle-deep debris-filled river that was Speed-way, looking for a warm hallway or alcove.

Bingo traveled light. She didn’t take up much room.

After Bingo was raped and she’d testified in court, she moved to Ocean Park.  She wanted to clean up her act.  She rented an apartment.  She was finally, people said, getting it together.

Bingo told the truth when she talked to people about herself.  But she didn’t tell the whole truth to any one person.  She had different people she told different things to.

She wrote, people said.  She wrote well.  Bingo went to poetry readings, jazz concerts, and art openings.  She knew dealers, procurers, poets, dancers, singers, and combinations of any and all of the above.

Sometimes she was less than kind to her lovers or would be lovers, people said.

People said she was abused and battered from the day she was born.  Wild Thing. Our Lady of the Wild Things. Gypsy.  Urchin, Harridan, Bitch, Crane, Mean, Clown, Sturdy, Human.

She was beaten and stabbed to death in that apartment where she was getting her act together.  People say.  Some people say that they loved each other. He’d come back from a stay in jail.  People say, some people say they were drunk and arguing. People say.  Some people say her husband did it.  People say.  Some people say he is in custody.  People say. Some people say he isn’t.

Willy Loman’s sister cries out at Willy’s funeral in Death of a salesman, “Attention must be paid.”  John Donne wrote  ”No man is an island.  Each man’s death diminishes me.”

Friends and enemies met at the Brooks Beach rocks.  We sat and stood in the warm mid-October sun.  A man was crying.  “I love this family.”  Junkies, Poets, Philosophers, Children, all with their different conceptions of what happens after the heart and brain goes out and the body decays gave testimony for Bingo.

Bob Alexander from the temple of Man read poems by Stuart Perkoff and Marcella.  Frank Rios standing tall in winged sleeves read a poem and burnt it. Flowers were strewn on the waves forming a blanket for half of Bingo’s ashes. The family has the other half.

“Just like Bingo,” someone smiled, k”she was always scattered.” Flowers. Incense. Babies. The Sun. Pelicans flew in strict formation, dipping gently over the flower-covered water.

By Erica Snowlake

Introducing Simone White, she who wanders whither and hither around the world, charming audiences with her (encore!) prodigious gifts of singing, songwriting, and fine guitar playing. Our lithe lovely mingles the tradition of the bard (wandering) and the chanteuse (crooning) with a voice evoking the honey-dripping bird tribes of Hawaii while boldly upholding the enlightened craftfulness of a female Dylan. It’s in her genes, with a folk-singing Mother, light-sculpture artist Dad, and grandma a burlesque queen in her day.

Her inherent whimsey charmed us upon first sight, we’ve been friends ever since. Let’s catch up! I say upon arriving at the Zen home on California Avenue she shares with filmmaker boyfriend Bob, stepping gingerly across a little wooden bridge over a pond of sparkling white and golden koi. Sipping hojicha, Simone’s happy to be home once again. She’s been touring steadily the past three years, recently returning from a month-long engagement with singer/songwriter Victoria Williams in Spain, playing in chapels and community halls to upwards of 500 people, rapt in pin-dropping silence as she delivers songs from her new CD “Yakiimo” (delicious mountain sweet potato in Japanese). Raving of the pleasures of playing in Europe (Portugal, Basque Country, France, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Denmark, Womad and Green Man festivals in the UK, Scotland, Ireland) and overseas in Japan, she expresses gratefulness for the respectful way in which touring artists and musicians are cherished, celebrated and honored. Many of her performances were free, subsidized by local government grants. We bemoan the financial cuts of art and music programs in public schools across America, sadly acknowledging the reason behind this country’s current and ongoing downfall : addiction to War.

Simone’s first CD I Am the Man, recorded in Nashville, features a peace brigade of anti-war tunes, including “The American War” “Great Imperialistic State” and “We Used to Stand So Tall”, reflecting her intense disillusion with the Bush administration (I recall flowing tears while listening to the latter). She is especially touched by the appreciation German audiences demonstrate for her political songs, encouraging her to continue playing them, even as Obama has since (supposedly) replaced “the greater evil”. “Why am I still haranguing America?” she ponders, while in the next moment quietly affirming “the wars are continuing….”

She shares an emotional moment she experienced in Japan, breaking down while facing the giant Kuan Yin (the Goddess of Compassion) statue marking the memorial of the Temple of the Fallen Soldiers of WWII (or the Pacific War, as they term it). It is here in Japan she first hears the haunting, atonal prayer of the Yakiimo man, praising his wares of roasted yams warming in a hand-held cart he wheels thru alleys and narrow streets. Though the cart has been mostly replaced by trucks and the nostalgic cry with recordings, the heart of the old-fashioned original inspired the title track of her CD, a beautiful rendition of the call her Japanese fans say evokes childhood memories of reverently holding the mouth-watering offering. We joke about our past lives, as Simone reckons “the parallel times happening all at once” and how matter-of-factly such beliefs are held by the people she’s met in India and Japan.

Our thoughts turn to Venice, fragrant with Spring jasmines and magnolias blossoming in every garden. Simone enjoys riding her bicycle along the ocean, finding spaces with “nothing to buy” healing for the soul. She supports the Venice Farmer’s Market every Friday, across the public library on Venice Blvd. and Rawesome Foods, an organic membership club at 665 Rose. She’s disappointed with people trashing Venice, especially when “everyone knows better littering here eventually winds up polluting the ocean.” She takes responsibility in caring for our home seriously, citing the fact the 100 million ton garbage patch, ninety percent plastic, floating in the North Pacific Gyre, is made up of individual purchases. Her gentle admonishments takes a whimsical approach as she suggests people wanting to throw something down upon the earth might find a creative release in composting, an art Simone and Bob maintain wherever they live (it’s easy to do!) She likens co-creating the new black dirt rich with worms pure alchemy, the sensation of being part of the cycle of life to turning lead into gold.

Before we part, we feed Bootchii, the mama squirrel who lives in the giant palm tree, walnuts, while listening to Simone’s joyful cover of Victoria Williams “You Are Loved”. She mentions seeing “Love is the Change” graffiti on Rose Avenue. I think she sees love everywhere.

To hear “Yakiimo” and a listing of Simone’s upcoming shows: www.simonewhite.com

By Krista Schwimmer

With even more homeless people living on the streets, it is inspiring to meet and talk with Ivonne Guzman, CEO of “Reach for the Top,” a federally tax-exempt, non-profit organization. Located in Venice since 2005, this organization is dedicated to housing the homeless, as well as distributing food to the community itself.

To accomplish their main mission of housing the homeless, they have purchased two properties: a triplex and a single family home, allowing them to have 4 different households. Two of these households hold all men; one, a mix of men and women; and the fourth houses families. Due to the high cost of real estate in Venice, both households are outside of Venice itself. The people they serve, however, are from the Venice community.

Ivonne is a passionate and enthusiastic member of the Venice Community. She came to Venice with her parents when she was five and has lived on the same block since, her parents having purchased several properties together. Although she did not plan on becoming involved in “Reach for the Top”, she believes in” divine intervention, divine path”. This is the path she has been put on.

What is amazing about this program is that not only does it provide shelter for anyone needing it – people ranging from the very educated to those coming out of prison – but it helps them gather the tools to then move on to permanent housing. Some of this is accomplished with the help of the Department of Social Services that started a private housing program 2 years ago. This allows for some basic funds for each individual. The rest is accomplished through the contributions of the household folks themselves. Everyone contributes in someway. There is no such thing as a free ride.

Although they do not keep statistics, Ivonne says the program is very successful. The average stay is between 9 and 12 months. They can stay up to 24 months. “The truth is, “ Ivonne declares,  “I don’t kick anyone out unless they are bad, meaning they are causing problems for everyone else. Then, they have to go.” She says they are particularly good at keeping clients from returning to crime; and recently, she helped a single father with amazing computer skills obtain a job at NASA. Now, he is looking for a home here in Venice.

Currently, what keeps Ivonne motivated and excited is the new facility in the works that would add 27 new beds for moms and children only. “It’s really sad,” Ivonne bemoans “when you see young kids out there with babies.”  There are some funds already allocated for this facility. They are working on developing a site for it in the West Adams District.

Ivonne has a lot of dreams. She dreams of developing affordable housing here in Venice; of greening throughout the City itself; and of employment development. All of this takes will, money and most of all time – “time and a good team”, she exclaims.

Towards the end of our interview, Ivonne announces that she has decided to run for office in the Neighborhood Council. “I’m scared to death; but by the same token, I just feel that it is time to – when I was younger we would have parades for things like Cinqo de Mayo.  The people were more united. We need to go back to that more, to people holding hands and saying we’re not going to take this anymore. We don’t want to be known as the persecutors of the people, just because you don’t have a place to live.”

It is people like Ivonne – with her compassion, commitment, and sense of community – that give Venice soul. If Venice is to truly be, as Ivonne herself believes, “the heartbeat of Los Angeles,” then we must support her and others like her even more than ever.

By Chris Chanaud

It was about a week after Euni Kang was raped and murdered, that I went down to Venice to meet up with her 2 closest friends. I had never really spent a lot of time with them but I’d heard enough about them from Euni that I felt I already knew them. It wasn’t really a fun or cheery sort of visit. There were a lot of harsh realities for us to face, and emotions to experience.  At some point one of us mentioned being hungry so we all went next store to the local soup n’ sandwich place.  As the ladies went to make their orders, I sorta spaced out remembering a nice quiet lunch in that very same place with Euni a few weeks earlier.  She’d gotten the french onion soup and it looked so much better than the sandwich I’d ordered.  I was jealous and kept taking sips of her soup.

We always shared food when we ate together.  It came my turn at the counter and I ordered the french onion soup.   When my name was called the guy behind the counter was saying something about the oddity of three orders in a row of the same thing.  Euni’s two friends and I had all unknowingly ordered the same thing.  Now most people wouldn’t pay this much mind or they’d say that it was coincidence, especially if it didn’t fit with their world view.  But to me this was just Euni’s way of saying hello from wherever her spirit had gone.  It was just like her to add some warm comfort to a cold chilly occasion.

Euni was my girlfriend for 6 years, and I’d never felt so close to anyone.  When I look at her footprint in the world the real tragedy to me is that more people know her for how she died than for how she lived.  Her parents had her cremated with neither service nor marker.  They were unfortunate enough to have to bury her only other sibling (a brother) just 7 years earlier when he died of cancer. The reason Euni moved to America was to spend time with her brother as he passed.

Euni grew up in Seoul South Korea.   Her parents who had expected the traditional normal child had no idea what they were in for with Euni.  She defied nomality and social conditioning.  She had a tendency to ditch school and go explore the city when she was young.  Euni was always a few steps ahead of everybody else and smarter than most.  When she was in college, she joined a commune and participated in student protests against the government. She saw her friends beaten down by riot police and tear gas. But it never mattered what you did or said to her.  She was stubborn as an old oak tree, immovable and unshakable.  She was always quick to see  through lies and propaganda.

A few years after her brother died, Euni purchased a dry cleaning business in a big office tower on Wilshire.  Most of her customers were lawyers and business executives.  She got along with most of them but sometimes her clients would give her an attitude of pity like “Gee how did you end up here?”.  Sometimes they’d even try to offer her what they considered help “up the ladder of success”.  Essentially the more materialistic ones tried to make her more like them.  She tended to laugh a lot at these offers.  She always laughed at peoples egos and insecurities. She thought it was so funny that people assumed that their criteria for success was the same as hers.  But she really enjoyed her simple 6 hour a day job.  It allowed her to do all the things she loved like surfing, drumming and dancing.

I always admired her ability to enjoy life.  She’d wake up one day and decide that she wanted to try something new like drumming.  By midday she’d be online at work looking for drumming classes.  By evening she’d be in a class doing it.  She found the greatest of pleasures in the simplest of things.  I once asked her what was the best meal she ever had.  She looked up for a moment to think and said  ”I made some tomato and squash soup the other day. And it was really good!”  But then tomatoes were one of her favorite things in life.   Like charge bars on a cell phone or lives on a videogame, Euni had an imaginary tomato status bar floating in her head.  She had to have a few every day or she’d feel incomplete.

In a lot of ways she had a pretty childlike sense of jubilance and fun.  Her favorite movies were the animated films of Hayo Miyazaki.  Months before his latest movie Ponyo came out, she had memorized the theme song in japanese (her second of three languages) “Ponyo ponyo sakana no ko…” she’d sing to herself whenever she had the chance.  But one of her favorite childish pleasures was annoying my cats.  It became clear pretty early on in our relationship that one of them (a girl kitty) was intensely jealous of me and Euni.  So, for example, when we’d be sitting there watching a movie, and kitty came over to me for petting, Euni would jump on my lap and throw her arms around me.  She’d look down at the annoyed kitty and say “No… You can’t have him.   He’s mine”.  I couldn’t help but laugh.   It was often her first thought when she came over to visit.  ”Where are the kitties?” shed say in her childlike tone ” I’m going to bug them!   Im feeling buggy.”  But it was never anything mean.

Euni’s death was a real tragedy for those lucky enough to have known her.  But most of the time when I think of her I smile. We had so many good times and great experiences together. Those memories have helped sustain me as I deal with her departure from this world.

It’s hard to see the sense or good in her transition.  But I have faith in upper management.  I know I’ve learned a lot since she left.  And I rest easier knowing that she did no harm in the world and a lot of good for those around her.  For me the best way to honor her memory is to be strong and appreciate the here and now.  Enjoy life to the fullest, and always try to give more than you get.  That’s exactly how Euni Kang lived her life.

By krista schwimmer

On Thursday night, February 25th, my friend, Simona, found me at work to tell me that my friend and neighbor, Andrew Koenig, had been found dead in Stanly Park, Vancouver, Canada. Although he had been missing by then since the 16th, and had a history of depression, I had still held up hope for his safe return. Friends and family sweeping the park had finally found his body off a trail. The news later confirmed his death as a suicide.

I last saw him at his Venice apartment the night before he left for Montreal, Canada. As he often did, he knocked on my back door. When he told me he was moving and flying to Canada the next day, I was surprised. He had not mentioned any of this to us earlier. I said as much and then asked him his plans. He said he wasn’t sure, that he was going to most likely travel for a few months. He had friends he could stay with in Canada. He wanted to know if I needed any herbs or spices from his kitchens; I told him no, and then hugged him, saying I would miss him. He told me he would miss me, too, and returned to his apartment to continue his work. Little did I know he had given away most of his possessions. He seemed calm and focused.

Although his move was a surprise, I knew he was miserable in Venice. I knew, too, how much he loved Canada (a shared love as my husband is from Nova Scotia). He had lived in Vancouver when he was younger and still visited friends up there regularly. Whenever he returned from his visits to Canada, he seemed happy and refreshed. I thought that he was perhaps trying to make a dash for Canada. I had done that myself, in my 30’s, when I had moved to Nova Scotia. So, I interpreted it as a man going after his dreams. I planned on checking up with him through Face Book to keep in touch with him.

In 1998, when I first moved into this neighborhood, folks still took the time to get to know each other. Andrew was no exception. I would see Andrew in passing when I threw out the trash or left cat food on my back steps for the wandering Venice cats. Being Canadian, my husband, Michael, would see Andrew and say, “Hey, come over for a beer!” Over time, Andrew would come over often for a variety of reasons — to borrow something; to use our printer; or simply to visit on the front porch where squirrels and birds would come because of the feeders. We had many conversations on the porch ranging from politics, to meaningful work, and critters. I particularly remember how Andrew loved the idea of astral travel and had consciously tried to do it.

Andrew was a kind hearted person, sometimes in spite of himself. There was a group of cats that lived in the back of our two apartment buildings. In the beginning, there must have been at least 6 of them. They were abandoned after their owner, a woman next store, died of cancer. There was a golden tom cat named Junior that Andrew particularly helped. He was a very needy, physical cat. At first, Andrew was a bit put out by Junior’s demanding way. (Believe me, we all were!) They became particularly close buddies, with Andrew regularly leaving his door open for Junior to wander up and visit with him, particularly when Junior was ill. Andrew would take Junior to the vet and pay for his vet bills even when he, himself, had little money. When Junior finally died, Andrew knocked on my backdoor. He had Junior’s body, knowing I would want to say my final goodbyes before he buried him.

I always admired that Andrew put into action his philosophy of life. He was a vegan; owned a Prius; went to Burma and returned to speak up for their suffering. As an actor, writer, director and editor, he struggled; but, he also persisted, learning new skills and constantly working at something. All three of us shared a love of Halloween, with Andrew almost always coming to our annual Halloween porch party and public ritual for remembering our ancestors. That is probably why I enjoy so much Andrew’s humorous short, “Good Boy” about a man who chops off his own hand to retrieve his remote control.

Although I admired Andrew’s creative self, for many years we knew nothing about his early acting success as “Boner” in “Growing Pains,” or that his father was Chekov on Star Trek. It was largely Andrew, the neighbor, I knew and loved. When I had my hysterectomy in 2008, he drove down to Harbor UCLA in Torrance to visit me in the hospital. He also made himself available to me while I recovered at home, so that when my husband went to work, I would have someone there if I needed. He was one of the few people I trusted to take care of my birds whenever Michael and I went up to San Francisco.

I still find myself looking out the tiny window of my backdoor to see if Andrew’s door is open. I still expect to walk by him, in that alleyway with the pink bougainvillea, as he returns and I go to the local post office. Or maybe, catch him on the steps of our porch eating a lunch of organic greens and heirloom tomatoes. I think of his family and their terrible loss. I pray that his soul is at peace, that the Goddess has taken him back into her being and even now, is restoring him with her infinite compassion.

One of the teachers I admire tremendously is the Buddhist activist and monk, Thich Nhat Hahn. In his book called “No Death, No Fear”, he talks about how when conditions are right, a person who has died, returns again. As a young boy, Hahn experienced this himself, after his mother died. One night, when he was sobbing in bed for her, the moonlight touched him in such a way that he knew it was his mother.

I believe in this myself. So, I will look for you, Andrew, in the world around me – the world of birds and squirrels and sky that you protected and loved; a world that you decided to return to yourself.

For more information about Andrew’s life and suicide prevention, visit his father’s site at www.walterkoenigsite.com

Carol Fondiller Berman

June 22, 1936 – Jan. 9, 2010

A Community Celebration
of the life of
Carol Fondiller Berman who
dedicated herself and her writings
to the preservation
and betterment of Venice

Saturday, February 13
at Beyond Baroque
681 Venice Blvd.

1pm – Reception
2-4pm – Program

All Beachhead Readers are invited. For more information: Beachhead@freevenice.org
or 310-306-7372/399-8685

In lieu of flowers, contributions may be sent  to Carol’s favorite newspaper, the Free Venice Beachhead, Venice 90294

By Greta Cobar

Carol Fondiller used to baby-sit Thomas Duggan, formerly known as Thomas Haag, Anna’s son. Yes, Anna Haag, who with John Haag operated the Venice West Cafe at 7 Dudley from 1962-66. John, Anna and Carol were also on the collective of the first Beachhead in 1968. One person who knew all of them from the beginning was Thomas.

Thomas, tell me about Carol. I had just talked to her on the phone about a month ago. I told her that I had just opened a bike shop, and she was proud. She said that she remembers how much fun she had with her little red Schwinn. I really wanted to interview her on camera, to just let the camera roll while we talked. I regret not getting around to that.

I have lots of fun memories of Carol. She was part of the group that my mom always hanged with. It was her, my father Bob Duggan, Jay the Bubbleman, Tomito, Lil’ Joe and Gloria Scott. I remember Carol baby-sitting me. I remember that I could always go to her house, any day, any time. I was around 5 years old, I remember them sitting around smoking pot. They always gave me the roach, and I would eat it. When they were through with the joint, they always said: “save the roach for Thomas.”

My mom and Carol used to hang out on the boardwalk all the time. As a matter of fact, my mom was one of the first, if not the first, vendor on the boardwalk. She made beautiful jewelry.

Tell me about your childhood. I grew up as Thomas Haag, but when I was 17 I had my son Jasen, and it was at that time that my mom told me that Bob Duggan was my father. I figure John must have cheated on her or something, and they were still married, but separated, and she got pregnant. I then changed my name to Thomas Duggan. But both John and Bob were a big part of my childhood, they both took me camping and stuff. One time John ran out of money during a camping trip, and we had to go through some really weird shit. Anyways, I have a sister, Duanna, who is 3 years younger than me. She lives in Colorado with her child. She is the one child that Anna and John Haag had together.

How was growing up in Venice? I remember going to Westminster Elementary School, and all doors had to be locked when Venice High students got out. They would come to get us. But I stayed out of trouble by staying out of certain places at certain times. I even graduated from Venice High.

My mom used to take us to Umbria, Italy, where she was from, every summer. We would leave a few days after school was over and did not come back till a few days before school started again. It was cool because I got to experience another culture, but I always felt like I was missing out on what was going on in Venice during that time. It was funny how different my life here was compared to my cousins’ in Italy. Over there they would get in trouble for not having their shirts tucked in, while over here I was really big into biking, skating, baseball, but also drugs and alcohol. I did so many drugs that I was through with all of that by 16. Same thing with alcohol, by 20 I had had enough. One time, I was 11, and our plane for Italy was supposed to leave at like 3 pm or something, but by noon I was so drunk that my mom got really pissed. God, she was so pissed! It was probably because I couldn’t help her carry anything. We used to have duffle bags full of stuff to take to Italy for presents.

But one common ground that I found with my Italian cousins was soccer. That’s what we played. And I also got to know another culture. My grandfather would send me to the store to buy him alcohol. And I learned to speak fluent Italian. While in Italy, I spoke Italian to my mother. But over here we always spoke English.

And what have you done since? I left Venice for 13 years, from 1987 to 2000, to live with my dad Bob Duggan in Aspen, Colorado. I graduated from the security school that my father has going on there, worked for him, taught shooting. Really did not like the weather, just too much snow.

Just this past April, Thomas opened a bike shop in the heart of Venice, just three blocks north of the post office on Main St. and San Juan. It’s a cool little place, and you should all check it out. He sells all kinds of old Schwinns that I almost drooled over, but also Backward Circle Bikes, those colorful skinny bikes that people ballet on at a stop light. What’s up with these bikes, Thomas? Well, I sell more of these than anybody else. My friend who started the company told me today “you’re in the lead.” When they bring these bikes in from Taiwan, they have to have a break on them and a chain guard, for security purposes. But then people take the chain guard and the break off, and they stop them by skidding the back wheel with a foot. I recently learned how to do that, but I still like beach cruisers best.

We rode bikes together to Carol’s memorial. He rode a wheelie most of the way.

I felt honored to be part of Carol’s memorial and to be able to continue her legacy with the Beachhead.

• Carol Fondiller – Ingrid Mueller
• Carol Fondiller – Cher Oakes
• Carol Evelyn Fondiller Berman – Mary Jane
• Silent Running – Bonnie Wolfe
• Weed Blowers – Simone White
• Plain English – DeDe Audet
• Supports the Beachhead – Marcy Winograd

————-

Carol Fondiller

It’s truly sad to lose Carol’s mighty voice.
When ‘checking out’ her renovated boardwalk building a couple of months ago, I hoped to ‘run into’ her, but the new young manager wouldn’t reveal her apartment location.
We have taken buses or rode to or met at L.A. City Council, it’s Planning Committee, the Housing Dept. and Coalition for Economic Survival meetings over the past 20 years, always knowing that our ‘bodies’ alone might count.
And her opinions were certainly heard when it came to our now 20-year-old Lincoln Place Garden Apartment saga.
We are grateful, indeed.
Ingrid Mueller, Lincoln Place

———–

Dear Beachhead,

Carol Fondiller’s sense of loyalty and deep natured devotion was evident in her humor & extreme talent of naming. I love her! And don’t worry; she can fly.

Cher Oakes

————

Carol Evelyn Fondiller Berman

Merci beaucoup! Femme extordinaire! For being part of our sea shore lives here… essential activist, paramount orator, literary legend, core of community, voluptuous romantic, and infinite wit!

You observe us each and all, from your ascension on the eve and night of 9th January 2010. Your ascent: not of surprise. The lament of your loss in our midst: staggering.

The slave labors for your earthly life include mine, bien sur, among your potpourris of friends as family. Therefore, my poem for your celebration – memorial gathering, still cocoons, unable for publication in the Free Venice Beachhead for 13th February. This emergency note, alone, must suffice till March.

We were co-founders of the volunteer newspaper. Your writings put forth in it, continuously. Even labored its first 25 years: 1968-1993 (public note: no issues from early 1993 till June 2002.) I attempted to work with the restart of it, for 5 months, in 2002, per their pleas.

Je t’aime toujours!      Mary Jane

Silent Running

Dear Beachhead,

I personally have walked up and down Venice Blvd talking to 103 residents, asking how often they see police cars patroling Venice Blvd. late at night. Seventy-Eight people said yes, every night, late. Sixty-one added they see them racing, sometimes without any lights on. Forty-three said they hear their engines racing, loud acceleration. Twenty-eight added the police use Venice Blvd as a drag strip, but without any lights. Eighteen asked me why they would drive so fast but not have any lights on. Thirty-one expressed concern for people’s safety with their excessive speeds along the streets. And finally, 61 would agree to signing a sworn statement if one should come about.

Then there are the cell phone pictures which clearly show the patrol car with no lights on before any other patrol cars arrived. Then their lights are on, responding patrol cars can clearly be seen in these pictures. It makes no difference in what sequence these pictures are displayed, pretty darn easy to arrange them in the proper order…..

Then they call it a crime scene but refuse to take anyone’s statements rather ordering them away from the scene and begin making arrests of anyone caught without a green card! Then there’s the fire department claiming they responded to the WRONG Glyndon Ave, claiming they arrived at a another “Glendon” location thus taking 15 minutes to arrive on the emergence call. If they know – which they certainly should – there are two streets by the same name (NOT the same spelling why on God’s Earth would they not confirm the correct location BEFORE they roll? Smells like a fish tank here to me boys. They’ve changed their story so many times they probably don’t even know what the truth is anymore! .

The evidence is mounting and it’s only a matter of time before the the TRUTH is heard. Too many witnesses to pull this one off boys!

Bonnie Wolfe

Dear Beachhead, It’s truly sad to lose Carol’s mighty voice. When ‘checking out’ her renovated boardwalk building a couple of months ago, I hoped to run into her, but the new young manager wouldn’t reveal her apartment location.  We have taken buses or rode to or met at L.A. City Council and PLUM and Housing Dept. and CES meetings over the past 20 years, always knowing that our ‘bodies’ alone might count. And her opinions were certainly heard when it came to our now 20-year-old Lincoln Place Garden Apartment saga. We are grateful, indeed. Ingrid Mueller at Lincoln Place

I personally have walked up and down Venice Blvd talking to over 100 residents, (103) asking how often they see police cars patroling Venice Blvd late at night. Seventy-Eight people said yes, every night, late. 61 added they see them racing, sometimes without any lights on. 43 said they hear their engines racing, loud acceleration. 28 added the police use Venice Blvd as a drag strip, but without any lights. 18 asked me why they would drive so fast but not have any lights on. 31 expressed concern for people’s safety with their excessive speeds along the streets. and finally 61 would agree to signing a sworn statement if one should come about.

Then there are the cell phone pictures which clearly show the patrol car with no lights before any other patrol cars arrive. then their lights are on, respopnding patrol cars can clearly be seen in these pictures. It makes no difference in what sequence these pictures are displayed, pretty darn easy to arrange them in the proper order…..

Then they call it a crime scene but refuse to take anyone’s statements rather ordering them away from the scene ande begin making arrests of anyone caught without a green card!Then there’s the fire department claiming they responded to the WRONG glyndon ave, claiming they arrived at a another “Glendon” location thus taking 15 minutes to arrive on the emergence call. If they know – which they certainly should there are two streets by the same name (NOT the same spelling why on Gods earth would they not confirm the correct location BEFORE they roll? Smelll like a fist tank here to me boy’s. They’ve changed their story so many times they probably don’t even know what the truth is anymore!

. The evidence is mounting and it’s only a matter of time before the the TRUTH is heard. Too many witnesses to pull this one off boys!

Bonnie Wolfe

———–

Leaf Blowers

Dear Beachhead,

WHAT?! Gasoline powered leaf blowers are illegal within 500 feet of a residence? (C.V. Beck letter, January issue)

Anyone who lives in LA knows this isn’t enforced.

I called the city to see if it was really true. Turns out you have to tell them in advance when exactly the leaf blower will be blowing and there’s also some loophole about private land.

Here are some chilling facts I found online:

“According to a report by the California EPA published in 2000, commercial leaf blowers run for 30 minutes emit CO2 equivalent to a car being driven 7,700 miles and carbon monoxide equivalent to 440 miles of driving. Another way of putting it, commercial leaf blowers emit over 500 times the amount of CO2 as cars. Residential leaf blowers are quite different, but still not good; these leaf blowers emit CO2 equivalent to 2,200 miles of driving and carbon monoxide equal to 110 miles.” http://eco-guides.us/blog/?p=125

Please, Venice Beachhead, tell us what steps we can take to stop this ridiculous pollution and waste. As I write this there’s one outside, in the RAIN!

Sincerely, Simone White

From the Beachhead:  Here’s the section of the Municipal Code, 112.04, that bans leaf blowers. It can be found at http://bit.ly/4pz12i (c) Notwithstanding the provisions of Subsection (a) above, no gas powered blower shall be used within 500 feet of a residence at anytime.  Both the user of such a blower as well as the individual who contracted for the services of the user, if any, shall be subject to the requirements of and penalty provisions for this ordinance.  Violation of the provisions of this subsection shall be punishable as an infraction in an amount not to exceed One Hundred Dollars ($100.00), notwithstanding the graduated fines set forth in L.A.M.C. Section 11.00(m).  This website gives a phone number to report violations: http://www.zapla.org

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Plain English

Dear Beachhead Readers,

It was a famous fiction writer who said that the best writing was “words meant for children with meanings meant for men.”  That “men,” of course, meant both sexes.

The English language is a wonderful thing.  Looking at the multi-language directions for use included with most of our new electronic gadgets you may have noticed that the English sections are shorter.  I take that to mean that English is simpler.

From its inflective beginnings in the Romance languages to its distributive presence in the now, it is a bridge to the most distributive language, Chinese.  I have been told that Chinese do not understand how we can talk about the “front half of the car.”  If that information is correct, to the Chinese a thing split in half has a new front and rear.  So Chinese appears to be a bit more technical than English.  Take note!

Right now our government is awash in more English than it can handle. Abandoning the ten commandments of Old English Law that included the intent required to establish guilt, our statutes abound with more damn regulations than can be enforced. I believe that Rome fell because its statutes could not be enforced in its far flung dominions.  Statutes beget more statutes until nobody knows what is right or wrong.

Legislators spew out more and more legislation to prove to themselves that they are doing something.

But why in hell do they not do something about removing all of the old laws that serve to confuse the new laws?

Or, when they make new laws, why don’t they look to see if the new laws fit with the old?

I believe that our government is stuck in a morass of laws that defy any kind of a fix.  Immigrants to the U.S. haven’t the foggiest notion of law because most have lived under the Code Napoleon, the rule of statute law.

Yet we congratulate ourselves by saying “you are innocent until  proven guilty”

Oh yeah. Try that in traffic court when the officer says you are guilty.

Here is another instance: health care. No one should be deprived when care is needed. But no one talks about health care in the home, the place of first need. That’s because there is no money in health care at home, except for a few low income health care workers.

More than two thousand pages of health insurance legislation should be a tipoff to the ripoff. Why does it take two thousand pages to care for the sick?  Either we care for sick people or we do not.  It is as simple as that.

We have a lovely language.  If we keep it simple, it will be easy to do the right thing.

DeDe Audet

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Winograd Supports Beachhead

Dear Beachhead,

Thanks for your local independent press & for fighting the good fight against corporatism. I proudly join the $100 sustainers.

Best wishes, Marcy Winograd

(Winograd has filed in the Democratic primary)

Historical status for the building that housed the Venice West coffeehouse (see photo, right), the Potpourri coffeehouse, the Vox Populi coffeehouse and Sponto Gallery was approved by the Los Angeles Cultural Affairs Commission, Jan. 7. That’s just the beginning, says Alan Leib, who initiated the application for historical recognition.

Leib, who previously was instrumental in saving the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium and other historical sites around L.A. County, would like to create a historical district on Dudley Avenue and revive the Venice West coffeehouse, an important gathering place for Venice Beats in the 1950s and 60s.

While the Dudley Avenue building still must get past the Planning and Land Use Management committee (PLUM) and the L.A. City Council to make historical status official, Leib has already set his sights on historical status for the Cadillac Hotel across the street.

Then, Dudley Avenue west of Speedway could be refurbished with cobblestones and closed to traffic. A fountain or statue could be erected, and the new plaza could be named after a Beat poet, or as Leib prefers, after Jim Morrison of The Doors, although there is no evidence he ever went to the coffeehouse. Ray Manzarek, former keyboardist with The Doors, is one of Leib’s supporters.

Leib says he would like to personally run a new Venice West cafe at 7 Dudley. However, the Piccolo Restaurant at 5 Dudley recently signed an eight-year least for the next-door storefront. Meanwhile, the personal property of Mark “Sponto” Kornfeld, who died in his 7 Dudley gallery last year, were sold at auction. Some of them have turned up on eBay. Sponto also dreamed of reviving the Venice West cafe someday, says Leib.

Six years after the project was approved by the Grass Roots Venice Neighborhood Council (GRVNC), new sluice gates are in operation on the Venice canals. The gates regulate the flow of sea water into and out of the canals. On April 22, 2004, the GRVNC Board, including this reporter, unanimously approved “$560,000 expenditure for repair, replacement, and maintenance of (the) gates.”

The funds were to come out of the Venice Surplus Property Fund, which is funded by the sale of real estate that belonged to the city of Los Angeles or the city of Venice. The funds can only be spent in Venice. Some of the funds were recently spent to pave the parking lots behind the Abbot Kinney merchants. Canal resident Darryl DuFay says that the project was finally accomplished when Councilmember Bill Rosendahl obtained “emergency funding.”

However, Nate Kaplan, press aide to Rosendahl, confirmed that the funds came out of the Surplus Property Fund. Rosendahl told the Beachhead that the city bureaucracy (public works department) dropped the ball. But, in a June 13, 2006 press release announcing the repair of the gates, Rosendahl stated “This swift repair would not be possible without the collaboration of community leaders and City staff.” He continued, “I would like to thank the Venice Canals Association and my Venice Field Deputy, Mark Antonio Grant, for the hard work and commitment shown on this project.”

Although this might seem like the end of the story, it wasn’t. Even though the gates were repaired in 2006, work proceeded on replacing them with new gates. The new gates are supposed to last for 20 years, however, the old gates were replaced after 17 years.

-Jim Smith

In the midst of a depression, the Los Angeles City Council wants to create 30 empty storefronts where thriving businesses now reside and throw hundreds of people out of work. And that’s just in Venice. Throughout the city of L.A., thousands would be out of work, a good proportion no doubt would become homeless for lack of income. California’s unemployment rate is now 12.4 percent, the highest since 1940.

The animosity of the city council toward cannabis is apparently fueled by a discredited notion that it is a dangerous drug rather than a medicine that helps tens of thousands of the terminally ill and chronic pain sufferers.

On Jan. 26, the City Council passed 9-3 a mean-spirited ordinance that could eliminate all but one medical marijuana dispensary in Venice. Councilmember Bill Rosendahl was the only opposition to the measure. Two others, Bernard C. Parks, Jan Perry, voted against the measure because they felt it wasn’t strong enough.

The ordinance would ban dispensaries within 1,000 feet of a school, another indication that the city council considers cannabis to be a dangerous drug. No such rules apply to drug stores, where really dangerous drugs are routinely dispensed. The ordinance would set a goal of only 70 dispensaries in Los Angeles. There are far more dispensaries of alcohol, including liquor stores, grocery stores and bars; however, the City Council seems unconcerned about their proliferation.

No attempt was made by the city council to tailor the ordinance to the varying attitudes within the city. For instance, a number of Venetians have spoken out in support of the dispensaries and legalization of cannabis.

Rosendahl told the Beachhead that he had made a motion to leave it up to the various councilmembers to craft rules for their districts but that the motion had died for lack of a second. A lawsuit by the dispensaries has been promised to overturn the ordinance.

More evidence that the city council is on the wrong side of history came Jan. 29 when petitions were filed to put a proposition on the November ballot in California that would legalize and tax the sale of cannabis. More than two-thirds of a million Californians put their names on the petitions, thereby nearly guaranteeing that the initiative will qualify for the ballot.

By Pam Emerson

When I met Carol in 1975, she was engaged in a struggle to preserve space for poor people – benches to sit on, apartments to live in, small groceries and small places to eat. She had been doing this for years in several venues, including the Beachhead.

She was also a story teller and a fun lover and an appreciator of cats. When I knew her best we were near neighbors and could visit in the evenings and have endless discussions of fairness and foolishness, selfishness and justice, self-righteousness and pomposity and the deceptions of men – and women.

In the seventies Carol was concerned with preserving the two sided benches on Ocean Front Walk where elderly residents had been accustomed to sit.  Roller skating had become popular.  Roller skaters were moving the wood and concrete benches that had stood on Ocean Front Walk for years to separate themselves from slow-moving pedestrians, creating a need for repairs. The City budget was again limited, and the Bureau of Street Maintenance decreed that it would no longer repair the benches.  Carol was a vocal participant in the ensuing controversy that was resolved only after the construction of the bike path out on the beach.

She was scathing about the lack of consideration of the young for the old, and of the rich for the poor but in discussing other issues; she could turn around and point out the need for room for families, for small merchants, even for vendors.  Carol did not hew an ideological line; she was more interested in fairness.  She would raise an issue so that it could not be ignored, but she was not entranced by ideological purists.

She appreciated people who saw things differently but detested bullies. In fact, Carol could scent a bully a thousand miles away, pluck the stuffing out of his coat and describe each wiggling string for the benefit of her cats.  She was suspicious of abstractions because abstractions describing programs often left out the people they were supposed to benefit.

She criticized community improvement programs that included no housing; loans to enable people to restore housing for low income people that had catches and loopholes such as twenty year limits for the low-income housing, or contracts that allowed the recipient of the loan to refinance and opt out once the market went up.   She would not get into the technicalities; she would just point out that the housing was supposed to be there and somehow it was not; the program had the name, but did not deliver the goods.

People who did not understand her view of public, open space may not have understood the growing conflict she had with vendors along Ocean Front Walk who now did not permit her, grown old and feeble, to sit on the very benches she had fought so long to replace.  Whenever you talked to Carol any opinion you had turned out to be a little bit wrong because she had noticed something and you had not and the conversation was off.  Carol was a moralist and an essayist and a humorist and a generous person.  We will miss her.

By Jim Smith

It’s been a year since George W. Bush left the White House (and he has yet to be arrested for war crimes). When Barack Obama took his place, the big majority of Americans applauded because his name was not Bush. Many, perhaps a majority, were thrilled because a Black man, a man of mixed race, had been elected to the top position in the country.

The Beachhead’s headline for November 2008, (we held the paper for the election results) roared, “It’s Obama!” with a subhead, “America’s Finest Hour.”

A year later, the majority of Americans are wondering what went wrong. A CBS poll in January recorded that only 46 percent approved of his job performance. A Gallup poll says that only 40 percent like the way he is handling, or not handling, the economy. Even less approved of his performance on health care.

Obama’s slide from grace cannot be attributed just to the inept Republican opposition. In a more-than-year-old comedy routine, Lewis Black said the “Democrats were the party of no ideas, and the Republicans were the party of bad ideas.” Since Obama’s election, that’s been reversed with the Republicans offering no ideas and the Democrats coming up with clunkers like Wall Street bailouts and mandatory health care without a public option or a single payer alternative.

While a lot of Obama’s misfortune is due to being allied for the past year with a Democratic-majority Congress that has behaved like a branch office of Wall Street, he must bear much of the blame, himself. In spite of his year as Commander-in-Chief, the U.S. is still occupying Iraq. He has escalated in Afghanistan, and the infamous Guantánamo prison is still operating. Belligerence has been expressed by Obama and his hawkish Secretary-of-State, against Iran, Yemen and Venezuela. Gaza continues to be a bleeding sore which his administration seems unwilling to seriously address.

Obama’s response to the devastating Haiti earthquake has not been to send in medical and rescue teams and construction workers, but to send 10,000 troops and an aircraft carrier, named after former Congressmember Carl Vinson, whom Wikipedia calls a “staunch segregationist.” Is the intent to help the Haitians, or to maintain U.S. control and ensure that Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the former president who was kidnapped by U.S. troops in 2004 and dropped off in Africa, does not return by popular demand. If not for the earthquake, would Obama have acted to stop Haiti’s descent into a hell of extreme poverty that the Rev. Pat Robertson says it so richly deserves?

In November 2008, this newspaper wrote and published an open letter to Obama. We have yet to receive an acknowledgement that it was received. In it, we urged Obama – who won 88 percent of the vote in Venice – to withdraw from Iraq and Afghanistan, repeal the Patriot Act, restore habeas corpus, end torture, close Guantánamo, and end wiretapping of American citizens. We also asked that he take the lead in reducing carbon emissions and that he bail out those most in need, not Wall Street.

Last April, I wrote that he was in serious danger of losing his popularity due to his inaction, or bad actions (President Obama and Mr. Abajo, Beachhead, April 2009). Like many economists, pundits and ordinary citizens, I urged a massive jobs program, a moratorium on foreclosures and evictions, stopgap measures to protect the growing number of homeless people, and more. Unfortunately, none of this type of Rooseveltian program has been taken up. There has not even been legislation to prevent the “casino capitalism” that plunged the nation into depression in the first place.

Obama, and his pro-Wall Street aides including Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel, Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner and Zbigniew Brzezinski – the Democrats’ answer to Henry Kissinger – are clearly in bed with the big banks and investment houses. Did Obama have any choice but to follow Bush in giving Big Capital hundreds of billions of dollars? Well, yes. Instead of propping up AIG, Goldman Sachs, and the big banks, he could have used the money to protect working people’s pensions and bank accounts. Instead of saving GM from tripping over itself, he could have protected the jobs and pensions of the auto workers. If he had done that, we would not be seeing hundreds of millions of dollars being paid out in bonuses for jobs not well done. AIG is paying $165 million this month in bonuses to corporate big shots. This insurance giant was given public funds totaling $170 billion in bailouts!

If there was any doubt that the Democrats in Congress and Obama dance to the Wall Street tune, it should have been put to rest by these corporate bailouts, which were followed by a health care bill that was slavishly amended to suit the big insurers. The old adage that the Republicans are the party of big business and the Democrats are the party of the “little guy” is long out of date.

The truth is that America is no longer a political democracy. It cannot be called democratic when it has two parties that are both controlled and funded by the same small group of super wealthy oligarchs and the corporations they own. While Obama, and even John McCain, may seem like “just folks” in their carefully constructed media personas, they are, in fact, bought and paid for spokespersons for the global corporations that own America, Inc.

Should this be a cause for despair? Not at all. Nothing lasts, and it appears that cutthroat capitalism is already tottering from the financial earthquakes of the past 18 months, with more on the way. The question is, what will take its place. Will we be able to construct a more humane and peaceful nation and society? Or will we sit by passively while a more and more corrupt and dissolute elite makes the rich, richer, and the poor, poorer, from L.A. City Hall to the halls of Congress?

Here are some suggestions for being part of the solution, not part of the problem: 1) Run, don’t walk, to the Post Office and change your registration from Democrat or Republican to “Peace and Freedom,” “Green,” or even “Decline to State.” Already, more than 5,000 Venetians have rejected the Democrats and Republicans when they registered to vote. I’m convinced that only by breaking the power of the Democrats and Republicans to define our freedom and control our lives can we have a truly democratic country; 2) Get involved in your community, Venice. We can’t have a loving and peaceful country if we don’t have strong, active communities. There are many Venice organizations already working on all sorts of community problems. Join one, or start your own; 3) “We the People,” is the basis of the Constitution and the country. Don’t let the Wall Street vampires divide us from one another. Help those who are less fortunate. Encourage those who are fearful of standing up for their rights. Insist on a democratic process whenever two or more people get together. We can have real change. We can survive a full-on depression. But only if we stick together.

“The Dream is over,” the Beatles once sang. Yeah, that pretty much sums up the first year of the Obama presidency. Now we’re awake and ready for our Naked Lunch, which is, as Jack Kerouac once told William Burroughs, that “frozen moment when everyone sees what is on the end of every fork.”

By Roger Linnett

If you’ve paid any attention to the news lately you couldn’t help but notice that – Jeez those Democrats are sure lousing things up! It has even been reported on the front page of The New York Times and by NBC Nightly News (those bastions of liberalism) that the Democrats would take a beating if an election were held today. The main proponents of this contention; conservative radio talk shows, FoxNews opining, and the right-wing print media inundate our 24-hour news cycle with a co-ordinated, non-stop barrage of criticism, hyperbole, abuse and plain old lies. Their collective caterwauling brings to mind the old adage, “An empty drum makes the loudest noise.”

Whatever President Obama does is somehow wrong. It’s either too much, not enough, too late or too soon, too far left or the opposite of what America wants. He is second-guessed daily by the same bunch of mealy-mouthed, professional complainers and whiners who take their daily talking points from, and are the cheerleaders for, the lap dogs of the big business cartels that got us into this mess to begin with. And they have the chutzpah to use their fallacious tirades as the basis of a cause celebre of the coming conservative resurgence.

Such has been the screech of these reactionary harpies and their media echo chambers that some people have been misled into believing that there is some truth to what they are saying, simply because of the overwhelming cacophony of their pervasive ranting. Understand that the vast majority of us in this country don’t really pay much attention to politics on a day-to-day basis and, because the constant droning of the Conservative’s complaint machine is mostly what we hear 24/7 all around the country, after a while some people start to believe it. To quote Lenin, “A lie told often enough becomes truth,” which is exactly their M.O. Most telling, though, is that when their convoluted misstatements and bald-faced lies are held up to open, honest scrutiny and found wanting, they retreat to their favorite tactics – name-calling and ad hominen attacks.

Let’s take a moment and examine the track record of these guardians of the nation’s moral compass and the veracity of some past pronouncements, like, say –  Saddam Hussein had a hand in the 9/11 plot – no – even Bush eventually retracted that whopper;  or – Saddam had stockpiles of WMDs and was planning an imminent attack on the U.S. – no – in fact, the I.A.E.A. inspector’s reports showed that they had indeed all been destroyed after Gulf War I, just as Hans Blix repeated til he was blue in the face; then there was – Saddam was in cahoots with bin Laden and Al-Qaeda – no – actually they hated each other, its either a Sunni/Shiite thing or a secular tyrant/fundamentalist revolutionary thing, I’m not sure; or the altruistic-sounding – liberating Iraq would bring Western-style democracy to the Middle East – no – they’re barely able to keep from erupting into civil war and, if not for the billions in oil under their feet, probably wouldn’t want to have a thing to do with each other; and lately, our newest, greatest threat – Iran will have the capability of building a nuclear weapon and delivering it by long-range missile in a year or so – please, gimme a break, the rest of the civilized world, and especially Israel, won’t allow that to happen, at least not until they change their tune, and oust their fundamentalist, theocratic government. Feel free to cite these examples to shoot down the next knuckle-dragging, mouth-breather that starts spouting such bogus right-wing talking points regarding Bush & Co.’s criminal war enterprise, but I digress.

Getting back to the Democrats’ imminent downfall, since taking office President Obama and the Democrats have raised the minimum wage (first time in over a decade), passed an equal pay for equal work law, greatly increased funding for the V.A., passed a new G.I. Bill and earmarked substantial new funds to assist the families of service people and for pay raises (Republicans love the troops as long as they don’t have to spend any money on them), signed the order to close Guantañamo Bay prison by the end of January 2010 (the process is being being thwarted by – you guessed it – Republican legislators – in Illinois.) And that was just the first of couple of weeks of his administration.

Since then, they have pulled the country back from the edge of a banking crisis, saved a major manufacturing sector of the economy by helping to turn around GM and Chrysler and are on the threshold of enacting national health care, a dream first proposed almost a hundred years ago. Not a bad start, I’d say. And by the time the next elections come around, most of the country probably will, too.

So don’t be alarmed when those reactionary obstructionists spew their craven cynicism or claim with welling eyes and anguished voices that Obama and the Dems with their reckless policies have turned this country upside down. After all, upside down is how they got it to begin with.

By Lance Diskan

The first Venice neighborhood meeting I went to – 1968 – there she was. When I visited Venice to celebrate our Centennial in 2005, there she was. For us, it’s been forty years of shared struggle, joy, language and solidarity. She’s irreplaceable, and a fundamental personality in Venetian history. Abbot would have loved her.

No one has ever written about Venice with more devotion, passion or skill. Her Beachhead articles were always the most worth-reading – with apologies to all the rest of us who added filigree to her essential documentation of not just what goes on, but why we should care. Future historians who want to learn about those times need only read her articles.

She not only had a wonderful way with words, but her prose had deep outrage, humor, insight and a sense of (in)justice that illuminated her expression. Any cause was fortunate to have her as an ally.

But it’s my friend who I’ll miss the most. A familiar face – and unmistakable voice – in the crowd, whether on Ocean Front Walk or along a crumbling walkway at a Canal Festival or at a City Hall public hearing or testifying before the Coastal Commission or lending a sparkle of light to some furiously-heated debate at the Venice Town Council or – you name it.

And Carol was loyal, a value that manifests the notion of community, binding each one of us to one another. Nothing equals the strength and satisfaction of decades of communion with another soul, and every one of us who knew her was a beneficiary of that experience. Lucky us!

I’d like to thank those people who helped Carol get to live at 5 Rose Avenue. No one ever deserved a million-dollar view more than she. It’s, as Abe Lincoln put it, “altogether fitting and proper” that she got to stay in the community she helped protect and define – an uncommon common woman amidst the wealthy. I hope one of the final sights she had was an unobstructed view, over the sand and past the breaking waves to the far horizon.

The Harpy has flown. Happy landings, sweetheart; and thanks for so much everything.