"Donnelly, Marcos - El Hijo De Hernez" - читать интересную книгу автора (Donnelly Marcos)

remembering I don't call myself Jose. Me Ilamo Joey. Eso es, si que es.

The Save-Our-Cities lady started shouting at the man from the LA Mayor's office.
Mama was up there on stage behind them, and I saw her pinch the bridge of her
nose. She picked that up from television; one night she'd pointed it out to me,
how tense people on TV always pinched their noses, and after that she always did
it, too. A few of our neighborhood leaders, also sitting on stage, noticed her
pinching, and two of them mimicked her. I don't think they realized why they
were doing it.

Mama had that sort of influence.

"Millions of dollars are pumped into areas like Beverly Hills, Park La Brea, and
West Hollywood, while this community rots of neglect!" The Save-Our-Cities lady
was a white woman with stringy red hair and a baggy T-shirt.

Besides Mr. Pietr, my seventh-grade teacher, she was the only white person in
St. Malachy's community hall. It was hot, and the hall was way too small for the
hundred or so of us packed in there. A couple of ceiling fans turned slow enough
that I could count the separate blades; they spun useless and lazy, twisting the
heat around for us.

"Los Angeles County and the federal government have invested heavily in this
area." The man from the Mayor's office talked quieter than the lady. "My
participation here tonight is evidence of our interest in your anti-drug
efforts. Grass-roots movements like these encourage us to continue our
investments." He was a black man, and even at thirteen I could imagine the
conversation downtown. "Fringe of the Watts area," some white politician would
have said. "Better send a Black or a Mexican. We got any free?"

I didn't want to be there that night, but Mr. Pietr told us it might be a good
idea. He said we should show our support for the South Central Drug-Free Zone
effort. The way Mr. Pietr said it meant he might not play the pipe for the class
if we didn't show up. Everybody from my seventh grade class was there.

"Invest!" The Save-Our-Cities lady had a shriek like a bus braking on a wet day.
"You call the Watts Shopping Center an investment? How many people here in this
hall do you think can actually afford to shop there? You have no idea, do you?"

I wondered if she had any idea. Father Galloway, the pastor of St. Malachy's,
had brought the woman in as a guest speaker for the meeting. I'd never seen her
before, and she'd probably never be back. Not to shop, not to live here, not for
nothing.

People from the crowd started yelling out their own opinions, but the Mayor's
man stayed calm. "Since 1990, nearly fifty million dollars have been invested in
the Fifteenth District and surrounding areas. We've used HUD allocations to
create seven immense housing projects, two additional senior citizen centers for
. . ."