I came to her apartment in Compton, to interview the old black lady as part of a project during my studies at U.C.L.A. We were supposed to gather oral histories, geneologies, folk tales, whatever the oldest residents of the inner city had to offer. It was all part of a sociology class I was taking…my professor was Dr. Robert Ward, PhD.

Walking up the dangerous, broken down stairs, I looked out across Compton Boulevard across at the Sheriff’s station. The shiny black and white squad cars seemed out of place in this neighborhood. Then I almost tripped and had to watch where I was going.

I knocked on the door of apartment nineteen (19), a rusty metal one and a dirty stain where a metal nine used to be marked the door clearly. It took a while, I knocked again…then she came and meekly answered by opening a small crack and asking who I was. I nervously looked around and wondered if Dr. Ward knew what he was doing sending his students out into Compton and Watts. ‘Come on in here, young man’; the old lady invited.

She offered a seat, something to drink or eat…I was too eager, I wanted to start writing, I wanted to get back to my car, okay, to be honest, I wanted to get out of Compton. ‘So, one of my friends, Dave said you had some kind of story you’d like to give us’; I querried. Leaning forward, I took a pocket recorder out and put it on the over padded armrest of the chair I was sitting in. I took out a pen and a notepad, and I studied the old woman’s leather-like face. There was a spark of recognition in her dark brown eyes, so dark they were almost black. ‘Oh, double d’; she said, refering to her nephew’s street name: “He doesn’t like to be called Dave anymore, not since he was ‘bout fifteen (15).”

My eyes began to wander, the apartment was clean. I guess she noticed because her voice grew a little louder: “People always askin’ ‘bout justice.” Now she leaned forward in her chair and emphasized: “Think they try God’s patience askin’ if there ain’t no divine justice.” I studied her as she grew more serious in tone and looks, luckily the pocket recorder was on. “Same people be laughing at faith and miracles.” “And I believe in miracles”; she lectured me: “I’ve seen things!”

I dropped my pen…I have to admit, I was thinking: “Great, some religious fanatic who’s going to try to convert me!” I wasn’t too happy with ‘double D’ or Dr. Ward. I was ready to go back to Westwood, get some pizza and make-up some story. The old lady either didn’t sense my fears, or she didn’t care. “It wasn’t too far back, just a few years ago…”; she began: “I think their names were Charlie and Bud, two poor ol’ drifters; what you’d call homeless today.” “They hung out by the Rama Burger around the corner and down the street, sitting there in the parking lot, leaning against that stone wall.” “Those boys done seen a lot, people coming and going, things, you know?” I nodded my head, thinking it might just be an interesting homeless story. Dr. Ward would give me a decent grade for a report like that. I could turn it into something good.

The old lady paused, I thought I saw her grimace..and her face grew darker, as if a shadow passed over her face. “Bastard’s name was Wilfred.” ‘Whose name’; I had to ask. She looked to her left and then her right and matter-of-factly declared: ‘He was a dealer, sold drugs to kids.’ Then she bitterly continued: ‘He was a pimp too, would get the little girls hooked on that shit…then make them work for him to keep up there habits!’ The woman had an angry look on her face.

‘Wilfred would pass by Charlie and Bud, walk right on by them’; she explained: ‘Those boys never done any harm, but he’d swear at them, call them names; he’d laugh at them and talk out loud about how lazy they must be.’ ‘Wasn’t true’; she told me: ‘Bud had a mental problem, was like a kid, a child, a baby.’ ‘Charlie tried, but with Bud’s problems, he lost his job, they lost their apartment.’ ‘Just one man trying to help his brother.’

I could see the point, by now I picked up my pen and was taking notes. ‘Somehow, the two survived all those years…even through the riots and fires.’ ‘Even when the burger place was burned down.’ ‘But that Wilfred, he just got worse and worse.’ ‘The drugs would come in faster and faster, the girls got younger and younger.’ ‘Wilfred got other boys to work for him too.’ ‘There were shootings, stabbings…this was such a bad place to live back then’; she openly confided with a sadness in her watery eyes.

‘Charlie was really good to his brother, he would take care of him, talk to him, try to beg for some change so they could eat’; the old woman told me: “They’d hold doors open for folks going to eat.” ‘Most of the time though, the boys would sit there, propped-up against that wall watching life go by.’ ‘Guess they saw a lot.’ ‘They probably wondered why Wilfred kept doing all that bad stuff when they knew he didn’t have to anymore.’ ‘He had lots of money, talk was of an apartment in Brentwood, and he started driving up in all these different cars, new cars, expensive new cars’; she said with a nod as if we were sharing some intimacy. ‘Got to a point where that Wilfred thought he really owned all of us, thought he owned the whole city!’

For the first time since she started her story, the old woman smiled and the shadow lifted: ‘Was somebody he didn’t own though…” Life poured back into her leathery face and she continued: ‘Was a woman, a girl I should say, don’t even know what she was doing in a neighborhood like this was then.’ I scribbled her words down as quickly as I could. ‘She sure was beautiful and there was something so special about her, everybody noticed.’ ‘I noticed her, Charlie, even Bud noticed her.’ “She’d appear here and there and just bring some kind of light with her, it’s so hard to explain.” The old woman strained for the right words. ‘She was some kind of beautiful, innocent child.’

‘One day, that Wilfred I done told you about, he noticed her too.’ ‘Tried to get her hooked on what he called his candy too!’ I looked up, expecting to see that shadow again. I expected a sadness, mournful look on the old woman’s face. But she was even more animated, more lit up, she looked younger as she continued: “Fool wouldn’t take no for an answer!” ‘One day, late in the afternoon…in that parking lot where Charlie and Bud watched the world go by, Wilfred grabed the girl.’ The old woman gasped for air in a dramatic pause, I started to get up to help her, but she motioned for me to sit down. ‘Grabbed her by her hair, real hard and tried to drag this child into his car.’ Leaning forward, she squinted her eyes and nodded as she revealed: ‘He was going to rape her!’ ‘He threw her in the back seat and ripped her dress, none of the so called decent, respectable folks did anything…’

‘Charlie and Bud got up, Charlie ran to the car trying to help the girl’; I scribbled her words exactly: “Wasn’t any use…everybody knew Wilfred carried a gun and that he was quick to use it!” ‘Especially if you were trying to take something he wanted away from him, and he wanted this little girl, he wanted her real bad!’

‘Charlie grabbed at the pimp, grabbed as hard as he could’; she told me excitedly: ‘Wilfred spun around easily tossing the thin, emaciated hero to the pavement!’ ‘He pulled a 45-caliber, chrome plated pistol from his pants and pointed it at Charlie.’ ‘No-one noticed the girl anymore, all the attention was on the fact that someone was gonna get shot!’

‘Fucking bumb’; Wilfred exclaimed as he squeezed the trigger…Charlie starts to yell: ‘Nooooooooooooo….’ “The pistol discharges with a loud ‘BANG!!!’” ‘A hollow point slug slices through the cool night air.’ “Just as it starts to cut into Charlie’s ragged clothes an dirty skin, Wilfred’s face cringes and he finishes the blood curdling scream: ‘Oooooooooooooo!!!’

“Charlie’s face changed too, he got this hard look and an evil grin for a split second…until the bullet pierced his chest and exploded deep within his heart!” ‘Wilfred dropped the gun and just stood there with this dumb look on his face’; the old woman told me.

‘Bud watched Charlie get shot in horror, then like the scared little boy he was…he started to run away.’ ‘Bud, Bud…wait’; Wilfred called out. ‘Bud stopped frozen in fear and confusion; fear that he was next and confusion because only Charlie ever called him by his name.’ “Bud, it, it, it’s me”; the pimp stutters: “My God, I, I, I’m alive!” ‘Charlie looked down at his lifeless, bloody body and the gun at his feet.’ ‘Charlie looks at Bud, and Bud back at him, they stare for a minute then they turn towards this girl…she’s awash in a supernatural kind-of glow, a halo’; the woman tells me with another nod and a knowing smile.

I drop my pen, my mouth hangs open, I try to say something but she stops me: ‘Now just you hush child, I’m not finished yet!’ The old woman’s face seems kinder, wiser as she explains: ‘That angel took the gun, just picked it up…the whole thing never happened as far as the police or anything.’ ‘Charlie and Bud got down on their knees, because they just knew what she was.’ ‘The angel smiled, telling them that the Lord has been watching over them all this time, suffering their every pain and humiliation with them.’ ‘She told them how proud He was of them and that He was giving the a special gift, another chance.’

‘I saw it all’; the old woman tells me: ‘I was getting a hamburger with Double D.’ ‘He saw it too’; I ask. She smiles a toothless grin and nods he head up and down and then she laughs. ‘What happened then, what happened to Charlie and Bud’; I asked.

‘They gave thanks, a lot of us dropped to our knees and some people just stared’; the old woman answers with a grin. ‘The angel just faded away, disappeared’; she says with a shrug. ‘Charlie reached in his pocket and pulled out a thick wallet stuffed with credit cards and money.’ “He looked at Bud and smiled as he realized that they wouldn’t have to be poor and homeless ever again!” “He looked at the drivers license, reached for his keys and they drove to Wilfred’s apartment, their new apartment in Brentwood.”

“That’s all”; I asked: ‘Is that all?’ ‘Oh child’; she laughed: ‘Those boys done good work ever since.’ ‘All that money that Wilfred got from selling poison and using people; they turned it into something good…they still come back and help the yougsters, the old people.’ She coughed and laughed: “They even help this old lady!” She coughed up some plegm, spit it into a little hankerchif and asked if that was a good enough story. I think I shook my head, I’m not sure what I said.

Later, I tried to verify this story. ‘Double D’ wouldn’t talk about it or where he got the money for school, the landlord for that apartment building wouldn’t tell me who pays her rent. There is this rumor of a couple of men who come down the street on occasion helping people with problems, paying bills and rent and buying kids bikes and gifts and school supplies. The most that I could get anyone to admit was that there was another rumor that they drove nice cars, expensive nice cars…and that they were angels in a way. Every time that I get cynical, it makes me pause and reflect and even stop off at a church. It makes me believe in miracles…

Created: October 29, 1999r.
Last Updated: May 23, 2005r.