Sleepy Lagoon

 By Louie Davila

Sorry for the delay Frank but I finally got busy with the promised story. This is for you too Norma“ From the Sleepy Lagoon to the Zoot Suit war, when Marines and Sailors made their score, stomping like Nazis through East LA…” El Pachuco, Zoot Suit, 1977.

It was the spring semester of my high school social studies class in 1975 when I first learned of the injustices perpetrated against the Chicano and Mexican American communities of the City of Angels during the height of WWII, and against zoot suited youths in particular. However, it certainly would not be the last time I breached the topic because I became highly intrigued, as to not only how it could be allowed to occur by law enforcement, but literally encouraged and ignored by them. But make no mistake; I was just as captivated by the estilo of the Pachucada, as I was baffled by the associated injustices I learned about. It was then, that my interest and subsequent studies on the era began.

Two years later, I began to see the first advertisements of an original play, Zoot Suit, by a Chicano author (Luís Valdez) that was about to make its debut at the Mark Taper Forum in the Music Center downtown. I knew that I had to see it, but because it was only part of a limited run of several plays in the New Theatre for Now series, it was quickly sold out and I thought that I had missed my chance to see it. I didn’t realize it, but the following year, it was brought back to the Mark Taper Forum for part of the 1978 season, but by the time I discovered this, it was again sold out just as quickly. It was then that the Music Center realized how wildly popular the play was, and that they needed an exclusive, long-term venue to accommodate the play’s demand. In the latter part of 1978, the play began its long run at the Aquarius Theatre on Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood.

My dad treated some of his friends, my brother, and me to see it the first time, and as expected, I was mesmerized by the captivating performance of Edward James Olmos and cast in their portrayal of the Sleepy Lagoon Murder and ensuing riots of June 1943. After that first show, I must have seen the play so many times (20x) that Phil Esparza, who was connected to the play, singled me out of the bargain ticket line one day and gifted me with two orchestra pit tickets! Friends of mine who attended at least one performance with me during that stretch, also loved the play and we’d often mimic lines from the play. As a direct result, one thing led to another and before long I found myself being recruited to coordinate a cast of 25 who were actual gang members (or gang-affiliated) in our own amateur production of the play.

We never charged for performing and couldn’t if we wanted because of copyright laws. We did it out of passion and performed it primarily in the Whittier/Norwalk area. My grandfather, whom I would later discover had an indirect connection, had already passed away in 1969, but this all occurred (Hollywood’s production and ours) while my widowed grandmother was still alive. Despite my interest in the incident, she never mentioned anything about it to me. Then again, she may have been unaware of what went on at the office. Besides, I’m pretty sure that my grandfather, and those personally involved in the fiasco of Sleepy Lagoon, never imagined that this incident would ever be transformed into a play or movie.

Several decades later in the fall of 2017, I found myself at community college in pursuit of an education higher than a high school diploma. That diploma was sufficient to make a decent living and raise a family, but the “powers that be” at the corporate offices of the company that employed me 25+ years decided to close our location, so it was time for me to move on. Although late in life, this was also an opportunity to return to something for which I had very little interest as a teen… school. It was also my chance to bolster my chances of providing more than just "sufficiently…"

(Part two coming tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve posted a photo of the 38 Street guys at San Quentin, two primitive photos of our production in 1978, and one of me un-zooted, holding the prized prop, a three-foot switchblade, 1979)

Sleepy Lagoon case and grandpa Joe (Part 2)

About halfway through the semester, my history professor assigned an assessment (or term paper) to our class. My chosen topic was social activism, so in addition to referencing some of the Chicano pioneers and organizations in this category, I chose to feature the 1942 Sleepy Lagoon Murder and its unjust trial, which was immortalized in Luis Valdez’ play, Zoot Suit. Besides, this was a topic with which I was already very familiar because of my past interest and research of those incidents. I thought it was going to be a slam dunk because I could write it from memory and quickly complete it, but anyone who’s ever attended college knows that it isn’t done that way. Assessment or Term papers require that you back up your information with citations from your sources, which should be reliable and/or academic sources. This meant I had to research anyway, but at least I had an idea of what and where to search.

While researching online one day, I discovered some documents in UCLA’s online archive that mentioned J.L. Marty as chairman of the Citizens' Committee for the Defense of Mexican American Youth. This committee was the precursor to, and previous name of the Sleepy Lagoon Defense Committee (SLDC). It was a citizen’s activist group in pursuit of obtaining a reversal on the wrongful conviction of the seventeen Mexican American youths accused of murder and conspiracy to commit murder in the Sleepy Lagoon case. My eyes, exhausted from hours of research on the computer, instantly popped opened like silver dollars, as I quickly scooted forward in my seat to read it more closely, and I almost exclaimed out loud (excuse the language), “NO F****** WAY! J.L. Marty? Grandpa’s name was J.L. Marty!”

It was a good thing I contained myself, as the college librarian would’ve kicked me out! I thought to myself, “It couldn’t be! There must’ve been another man with those initials and surname. Besides, someone in the family would’ve surely mentioned it, especially after noticing that much of my wardrobe had gone zoot at that time, complete with tandito, cadena, tírantes, and double-soled calcos!” But the more I read about this man, the more parallels to my grandpa I uncovered, including his position as a C.I.O. representative. Although I had already been aware of his C.I.O. affiliation in the 30s and 40s, I had no idea that he could’ve had any part of fighting for the release (on appeal) of the Sleepy Lagoon defendants until I discovered a document on the UCLA online archives. After regaining my composure and re-reading this several times, I saved a PDF copy of my discovery to approach my mom about it upon my next visit, which was going to be much sooner than planned. Despite all the similarities, I still wasn’t convinced that it was gramps and wanted more proof before making this declaration on my term paper!

After class that day, I made a v-line to my mom’s house, barely containing my excitement about my recent discovery. This is how the conversation went…

Me: Hi mom, how are you feeling? (Planting a kiss on her cheek)

Mom: I’m ok mijo. Are you hungry?

Me: No mom… uh, well maybe a little. (It’s a sin to turn down mom’s cooking.)

Mom: Did you have class today? How did it go?

Me: You know mom, funny you should ask that. Remember that term paper assignment I told you about in my history class?

Mom: Mijo, you tell me a lot of things. Which paper was that again?

Me: (Containing my laughter while thinking… are you trying to say I talk too much?) My term paper for History mom. It’s a big part of my grade. Remember?

Mom: Oh yeah. Mijo, I hope you’ve been working on it!

Me: Of course, mom. But while I was doing research online today, guess whose initials and surname surfaced, and was mentioned as chairman for the committee that tried to free the guys in the Sleepy Lagoon case back in 1943? It was grandpas!

Mom: Whose grandpa? (With the same incredulous look that I had when I discovered this)

Me: Yours mom, I mean my grandpa, your dad! How come you never told me about his involvement in it?

Mom: (Looking at me, as if I were dingy) Mijo, H-E-L-L-O! I was only three years old at the time! (Ok, I kind of walked into that one.)

Me: Ok, but I mean he never told you about it when you were older? And grandma, she never mentioned anything about it to me either.

Mom: I don’t know why mijo. He was always consumed with union business. You know that they were always fighting for something. Besides, how would anybody know that all those years later, it would become a huge play and then a movie? But come on upstairs, so I can pull out some old pictures of grandpa.

Me: (Stomach now growling) What about something to eat?

Mom: You can wait. It won’t kill you! (Got to love mom!)

Well, up the stairs we went and into her room, when she pulled out this bag. I laughed when I saw it because it looked just like the little bag of tricks that Felix the Cat would pull out of thin air whenever he got into a fix! She was in the process of showing me several vintage photos of my grandpa during various union functions – marches, meetings, rallies, etc. – when suddenly, I come across a framed photo that appeared to show him amongst mixed genders, possibly parents. I then asked my mom if I could take some of the photos home, so I could scan them. She said, “Of course,” then proceeded to remove the framed photo from its frame. As she did, I noticed what appeared to be a small newspaper clipping falling from behind the photo. Whoever clipped it, didn’t do a very good job because part of the caption was missing. However, based on what remained, it implied something about a Grand Jury investigation, Joe Marty of the Mexican Defense Committee, and an arrest on charges of inciting a riot. There was someone standing at a podium and there was grandpa sitting down in the lower left-hand corner… BINGO!! That was exactly the confirmation I needed, the smoking gun. J.L. Marty was in fact, my grandfather, Joseph L. Marty. So, as I hurriedly departed to resume work on my paper, my mom calls out to me, “Mijo, what about something to eat?” I happily replied, “It can wait mom, it won’t kill me. I’ve got work to do!”

(Part two coming tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve posted a photo of my grandfather at a C.I.O. union meeting, a newspaper clipping confirming his role on the committee, photo at a committee meeting, and the document I discovered online with his name and committee role)

Sorry, but better late than never.

Sleepy Lagoon case and grandpa Joe (part 3)

After spending hours in front of a computer screen, I usually don’t want to see another screen for a while, but I was now on a mission. Feeling the need to dig deeper and find more information, I rushed home and skipped dinner – which is huge for me – so I could return to my research and start scanning those photos. The revelation that my grandfather created the group that would eventually become successful in helping to obtain a reversal for the Sleepy Lagoon defendants was an awesome feeling, but what was I going to put in my term paper? That grandpa founded a group and wrote a letter to his fellow union brethren? No. I needed details or the meat and potatoes of what he did; basically, something of more substance to detail the level of dedication he had to this cause. After sifting through numerous documents online, it was just too much for my eyes and besides, my stomach was now screaming at me like Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors, “feed me, I’m hungry!” So I gave in to hunger and sleep. There’s nothing like a fresh start and a cup of coffee in the morning anyway.

Having an off day (from classes) and a fresh start, I was ready and determined to dig up something to give legs to my paper. The night’s rest paid off because on the same site where I found the first document about my grandfather, I also discovered what appeared to be a radio show transcript. In reading it, I concluded that during this era, the C.I.O. sponsored a radio program called Our Daily Bread. This particular segment occurred on Cinco de Mayo, 1943 and was dedicated to the plight of the defendants in the Sleepy Lagoon case and their trial that was shrouded in a mockery of justice. The surprise in this find? My grandfather was the guest speaker in this segment. During the interview, he outlined the events that led to the case, discussed the medical examiner’s findings on murder victim Jose Díaz, and detailed numerous instances of judicial misconduct during the trial, among other related facts. He went on to point out the parallels between actions against the Mexican American community in LA, as well as all people of color in the US, and the tactics that Hitler used in Nazi Germany to cause division in that country, which enabled him to eventually seize complete control. He warned that the same could occur here if no resistance was offered when these types of injustices were levied against fellow citizens. Keep in mind that it wasn’t old news back then; it was simultaneous with what was happening at home! I also learned through his interview that he was in these court proceedings every day, which enabled him to report and appeal to his C.I.O. fraternity, rallying the troops to support this cause.

In digging further, I also discovered the original (not re-created) document generated by my grandfather, introducing the injustice inflicted on the Sleepy Lagoon defendants to his C.I.O. brethren, and appealing for donations to cover the cost of a prominent labor attorney of the time, Ben Margolis, who would be retained to handle the appeal.

Any case that escalates to the appellate courts is a very different, and cut and dry process. These types of proceedings do not review old evidence. The appellate court may consider new evidence that was unjustly omitted from the original hearing, but they don’t re-examine evidence that was already introduced at trial. Contrarily, the appellate court examines court transcripts and each citing (by the original trial attorneys) of judicial misconduct to verify their veracity. Once the briefs (usually numerous) for appeal have been completed, the decision of upholding or reversing the sentence of the original trial court rests with the justices of the appellate court. It usually requires a lawyer very familiar with state constitutional law and the judicial process, with a staff to support the necessary documentation. So, retaining him was a fairly large undertaking at the time.

Never let it be said that Latinos do not become involved. By now, you might’ve already wondered, “Latino? How is the surname Marty a Latino name?” Allow me to momentarily digress from the main topic to elaborate a little. My grandfather’s parents (my great grandparents) Lorenzo and Manuela emigrated from Spain before my grandpa was born in San Francisco in the early part of last century. They passed away so long ago, that my mother never even knew them. They arrived by steamship typical of that era such as those of the White Star line from Titanic notoriety. Although Lorenzo was a head chef on that steamship line, I’m not sure if it allowed them to travel at a more affordable rate, but that’s irrelevant to the story.

Upon their arrival in the United States, Lorenzo decided that he would change – actually shorten – their surname. I once asked my widowed grandma how Marty was a Latino name. After all, grandpa’s parents were from Spain. After confirming that they were, she went on to pronounce their original surname. In a blunder that I’ll always regret, I did not have a recorder of any kind, nor did I ask her to repeat the name, so I could write it down. That juvenile mistake would haunt me years later when trying to trace their genealogy. What I clearly remember is wondering how she was able to say that multi-syllabled name without taking a breath! It did begin with Marte or Marti, followed by “de” __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __. But make no mistake; it was an extremely long Castilian name. I just sat there dumbstruck, as she pronounced it, and the only thing I could think of saying to her was, “Wow grandma, it’s a good thing that grandpa wasn’t an athlete! They would’ve NEVER been able to fit that name on the back of a jersey!” Typical juvenile reaction, but nonetheless, a reason why the elders of a family should be revered, and their knowledge absorbed, as much as possible. Once their proverbial lights have dimmed, we won’t have another chance unless, and if we cross heavenly paths.

Because my grandfather was light complected, typical of many Spaniards, and had grey eyes, many Anglos initially thought he was one of them. This probably explains why he was able to speak up to the white population the way he did, without repercussion. But he knew he was of Spanish ethnicity, and that the Mexicano race was a partial byproduct of Spanish heritage, so he always felt that connection. In fact, he eventually married my grandmother, who was born in Zacatecas, Mexico like her parents and ten siblings. Being that he only had one half sister who was younger and not raised with him, he embraced them all as his own blood relatives when he married into the Roldan family and never distinguished himself from them. They were extremely close, and my grandmother’s siblings thought of him as a “carnal from another jefita” until the day he died.

Even though they had different upbringings, there was a common quality shared by my grandpa and Henry Leyvas, who was one of the main defendants in the Sleepy Lagoon case and a frequent target of law enforcement in the area he lived. They both had a strong desire to stand up for themselves and/or others when they felt that they were being stepped on. It was undoubtedly this trait that caused Henry to be a target of police. Based on all accounts I’ve read about Hank, he truly had leadership qualities that his peers admired, but contrary to the belief of law enforcement, was NOT the ringleader of any criminal activities, nor the leader of any gang. But his fortitude was most likely why the organizers of the Brown Berets of the 1960s would seek his advice in later years. They acted as security in many rallies for Chicano rights, so what better person to consult with, than a man with protective senses like Henry? That same type of attitude is probably what qualified grandpa Joe to be a union rep, as well as a social activist.

(Part four coming soon. I’ll try and get it completed so it’s ready for Sunday morning reading, or to begin the work week on Monday – thank you all for your comments and support. Meanwhile, I’ve posted photos of the transcripts for the 1943 Cinco de Mayo radio broadcast of Our Daily Bread and the original document I discovered from my grandfather to his C.I.O. brothers).

Sleepy Lagoon case and grandpa Joe (part 4)

In sharing the story about the discovery of my grandfather’s connection to this case, perhaps I’ve put the cart before the horse by presuming that you were all familiar with its background. So, with my apologies, and for the benefit of those who are unclear about the case in any way, please allow me to provide a summary of the contributing events.

This case involved the death of a young man of Mexican heritage, named Jose Díaz, and occurred in the late hours of August 1, 1942, after a party he attended at the Delgadillo residence in the Williams Ranch, an area of what is now considered to be close to Maywood/City of Commerce. Meanwhile, Henry, his girlfriend, and a small group of youths from the local 38 street neighborhood were hanging out at a nearby reservoir, later dubbed by the press as “Sleepy Lagoon,” after a popular song of the era and its serene appearance. In addition to its use as an irrigation ditch for crops, it doubled as a swimming hole (by day) for ethnic minorities banned from “white only” public pools, and at night it was frequented by teens as a makeshift lover’s lane. In the confusion that occurred that night, Henry and his girlfriend were brutally attacked by a group of rowdies from Downey, who had just departed the ranch following a failed attempt to crash the party at the Delgadillo residence. The group from 38 street left for reinforcements to avenge the attack.

With reinforcements now by their side, they discovered that the group who had attacked their friends had left the reservoir area, so they headed to the nearby party still in progress, certain that the attackers were there. Their arrival at the Delgadillo home was met with violence because the 38 street youths were mistaken by party guests, as the boys from Downey who attempted to crash their party earlier that evening. Evidence suggests it was never established that anyone with the crowd from 38 street attacked Jose Díaz or were even near him in the time frame he was at the party. Nevertheless, they were the focus and only line of investigation ever pursued by the police because Díaz was discovered near death somewhere on the property after the scuffle between the guests – at a party Díaz had already left – and the group from 38 street. The roundup of suspects based on that narrow-mindedness, their arrest, and the trial that ensued was a complete farce.

The trial was filled with numerous counts of judicial misconduct, and violations of the defendants’ civil rights in an atmosphere of wartime hysteria and racial hatred that was fueled by the media of that period. For several months prior to Sleepy Lagoon, the media, now intent on directing their aim at a new scapegoat to sell headlines – in absence of the Japanese who were recently placed into internment camps shortly following the attack on Pearl Harbor – shifted their attack on the Mexican community in LA. Combined with paranoia and feelings of nationalism, the sensationalized headlines in the months leading to this case sold papers and made radio broadcast headlines. After all, this was in alignment with an old media adage, “If it bleeds, it leads.” Numerous headlines such as “Zoot-Suited gangs on the Prowl,” as well as increased usage of derogatory terms like “Pachuco Killers” and “Mexican Goon-Squads” were surfacing everywhere. Consequently, the incident at Sleepy Lagoon was tailor-made for the sensationalized media that gobbled it up and caused an already paranoid public to believe that this event only perpetuated all the media hype of recent months.

The presiding trial judge (Charles W. Fricke) was a known prosecutor’s attorney, and in another distant connection to this case, my paternal great uncle Manuel appeared before the same judge about 3 years before the 38 street boys on some serious but trumped-up charges. The arresting officer was strongly disliked by judge Fricke. However, his disdain for Mexicans/Chicanos outweighed his almost-hatred of the arresting officer, and without any substantiating evidence he sentenced my uncle to (10) years, which was eventually suspended after a couple of years in lieu of military enlistment. Incidentally, my great uncle Manuel also wore the drape shape. Coincidence? I strongly doubt that, and I do remember him telling me that while he was in the holding tank awaiting an appearance before the court, other inmates would ask of one another if they knew which judge was set to hear their case. Each time an inmate would reply that it was judge Fricke, the inquiring inmate would make an over-the-shoulder thumb motion (outta here!), while advising the impending defendant to roll it up and get ready for a trip “up the river.”

In the Sleepy Lagoon case, this judge prohibited the defendants from consulting with their attorneys during the trial, forbid them from wearing clean clothes, and barred the defendants from receiving haircuts during the four-month trial. There were dozens of occurrences of judicial misconduct by the bench that were cited by defense counsel, who themselves were also subject to constant berating and humiliation by the bench… in the presence of the jury! The way the trial was framed by the judge himself was guaranteed to yield a guilty verdict from the jury. Ultimately, three of the defendants received a sentence of life imprisonment at San Quentin, nine defendants received a five-to-life sentence (also at San Quentin), while five others served one year in the county jail. These were extremely harsh and unjust verdicts, considering that there was not one shred of evidence, physical or otherwise, that would incriminate any of the defendants. Even the report from the county coroner or chief autopsy surgeon suggested that the decedent had died from a Cerebral Hemorrhage, and that its severity was also consistent with injuries sustained by being run over with an automobile.

(Part five coming soon. Again, thank you all for your comments and support. Meanwhile, the only photo I posted today is of my great uncle Manuel (circa 1938), who was also my nino and appeared before the same biased Judge who presided over the Sleepy Lagoon case 3 years later.)

Sleepy Lagoon case and grandpa Joe (part 5)

My apologies for the personal issues that delayed this posting.

Sadly, many victims of crimes become lost in obscurity much too often and become just another statistic. But they too had family, friends, and a life with dreams and plans for the future that were ended by an assailant who felt they were judge, jury, and executioner, deciding to extinguish that life. The poor victim eventually loses their voice and identity. Enveloped in all the hysteria, media hype, and the riots that occurred the following year, was the victim in this case, José Díaz. His demise began a chain of events that affected many. Not much is known about José, but before moving forward, let’s dedicate some time to what is known about the ultimate victim of this story.

José Díaz was described as a devoted son. He left school after 8th grade to earn money and faithfully relinquished his weekly pay from the job he secured at a vegetable packing plant to help support his family who lived in a bunkhouse for workers at the Williams ranch. Although modest and hard-working by nature, he also enjoyed the jazz scene and like many who followed the genre’s artists of the day, wore the peg-legged “tramados” (pants) for dances or parties. Called “ankle chokers” by some, they were part of the Zoot Suits worn by the jazz culture and by Pachucos who saved their hard-earned money to spend on the hottest style of the day.

Like many men in the country, the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the subsequent entry of the US into World War II elevated his sense of patriotism and the desire to serve. Six months later in the summer of 1942, José, 22 at the time, enlisted in the U.S. Army. One week before he was set to depart, his mother – in an almost intuitive appeal – sent him to have his picture taken. It was heartbreaking because that photo was the very first, and sadly the only one of José.

On his last Saturday night before departing, José had planned to attend a birthday party at the Delgadillo home on the ranch, and his safety during his impending service was also toasted that night. Not being one to drink very often and feeling its effects, he left for home before the party wound down and it was the last time anyone saw him conscious. His younger brother was home at the time and once he was alerted that his older brother was discovered bloody and comatose, he rushed him to the Los Angeles County General Hospital. He never regained consciousness and passed away not long after arriving. Scheduled to report to duty the day after his murder, his aspiration to serve would never be realized.

Being that agricultural work is seasonal, it was not uncommon for one to follow the work and tragically on the weekend José died, his parents were up north picking prunes. As fate would have it his mother fell ill, and they made an early return with the rest of the family who accompanied them. Imagine the horror upon their return when they were immediately informed by neighbors of their son’s fate.

The media and LAPD viewed José and his attackers as gang members and enemies amongst the public, using his murder to unleash an extensive attack on what was felt by them to be an incontrollable and quickly growing Mexican American adolescent "problem." José’s family understandably felt that he never received the justice to which he was entitled. He ostensibly had been reduced to a mere footnote as these events have been rehashed throughout the years. José deserved so much better.

Prison is a very intimidating place for many, especially for those who are “fish” or new inmates and more so for first time offenders of the same age as the defendants of this case. While most are of legal age, their personalities and ethics are still being shaped at that young age. Some are better suited to adjust to that life and put on a gruff façade, maybe even destined for a life of crime. Others are only on the periphery and most likely "just passing through." However, once entangled in it, the system has a way of manipulating one over the edge and some literally make the transformation into career criminals. The “system,” also known as the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, often emphasizes the correction aspect more than rehabilitation, so more often than not, inmates actually refine their craft and graduate to becoming polished criminals. Perhaps it’s why some refer to paroled inmates as having “been to college.” With that thought, it was no mystery why the families of these defendants were devastated with the resulting sentences and felt a desperate need to seek assistance to have their sentences appealed.

Immediately thereafter, my grandfather formed a group that sprang into action to reach a broader portion of the public, make them aware of the injustice that had occurred, and raise funds for an appeal. This is when a local, lesser-known group of activists – the Citizens Committee for the Defense of Mexican American Youth – was born. The committee successfully appealed to all demographics and professional organizations to expand the support for the Sleepy Lagoon boys. They worked diligently to coordinate fund raisers and appealed to union locals, as well as the local community for financial contributions. It eventually became and was more commonly known as the Sleepy Lagoon Defense Committee, and they gave their relentless support to the defendants who were now in San Quentin prison.

Added to the thousands of citizens from every demographic, the group gained even more traction when some of the Hollywood elite of that era – including Rita Hayworth and Anthony Quinn (both of Latino heritage), and Orson Wells – became involved and lent their names to this struggle. The group also included many prominent professionals, prestigious associations, and civil rights activists such as renowned author and attorney Carey McWilliams. It was indeed unfortunate that this case even went to trial in the first place and even more of a travesty that it was conducted like a three-ring circus. However, the silver lining here was that the original trial attorneys, which included George Shibley, cited so many civil rights violations and incidents of judicial misconduct by the bench, it appeared very promising that Judge Frick provided enough legal rope to hang himself. However, as the appeals process and the ongoing war trudged on, no one would dare assume that the verdict they were praying and hoping for would be a foregone conclusion, especially after the injustice that had already been witnessed in the courtroom. The anticipation was agonizing for all involved.

(Part six coming soon. Again, thank you all for your comments and support. Posted is a photo of murder victim José Díaz, as well as court proceedings at various phases, the defendants in San Quentin boxing program and some of the women entangled in this case.)

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1Connie Collins