So yesterday, I’m drying my hair to go to church and all of the sudden this comes to me…not poetic, not up front, just life in Los Angeles as I know it…
So it’s the day after the “big game” in L.A. For those of you who don’t know (and maybe the eleven or so Angelenos who don’t pay attention), USC’s football team journeyed across town to Pasadena to play UCLA at the Rose Bowl. (this isn’t the actual Rose Bowl game, mind you, but the actual; physical space where the game is played, also called the Rose Bowl.) Neither team has an adequate campus stadium; USC’s home stadium is the Coliseum one block from campus; UCLA leaves Westwood for the east along the sycamore and oak lined streets of Pasadena for their “home” stadium. This is true of all of Los Angeles it seems; even home can be far away up a freeway, or just one block south.
I grew up in a family of staunch and loyal Bruins. My mother and aunt graduated in 1949 and 1952 respectively; my uncle and aunt both graduated in the 1950’s as well. All became teachers in Los Angeles Unified School District (I always said that everyone in my family is either a teacher or a cop or a Bruin or not), I myself received my MA in American Indian Studies at UCLA in 1992. For my graduation, my mom presented me with a letterman’s jacket. I was continuing in the family tradition. I never was the football fan that every single person in my extended family is; I grew up around it but preferred baseball, bleeding Dodger Blue. Yet I knew all about the rules and plays of football; I guess osmosis really does work.
When I was accepted into the PhD program in American Studies and Ethnicity at USC in 2003, I will admit there was some trepidation on my part. How could I, a Bruin by genetic code, even set foot on Trojan grounds without feeling the sudden urge to go down fighting? Every time I passed Tommy Trojan, I had to fight the instinct to run up to him and swathe him in light blue and gold streamers gliding in the wind, trailing behind him defiantly in the warm Santa Ana breeze. During a particularly cold weather spell two years ago, I rushed out of the house and forgot my coat. It was cold enough for me to head over to the bookstore and buy a sweatshirt in Cardinal and gold. (Mind you, red is so much more my color than light blue!) It was 45 degrees, which for a native born Angeleno is below freezing; I could not bring myself to buy anything at least remotely Trojan and wear it--- God forbid--- in public. That day, I literally would have rather frozen than walk around being seen wear the Trojan colors. I hope you see how deep in my blood this blue and gold runs.
At my mother’s funeral this past spring, the battle was still being fought. My cousin Mark, in his lovely and moving eulogy, talked about my mother’s lifelong, die hard devotion to her Bruins, noting the fact that she was proud of her daughter, even if the PhD will come from “the lesser of the two fine Los Angeles institutions.” (Somewhere, up in heaven, my mother was getting her last laugh.) To which I responded, in my eulogy, “What my cousin neglects to say is that I received my Master’s degree from UCLA and am simply just an infiltrator.”
San Pedro, in the port of Los Angeles, is an anomaly: small town surrounded by L.A. People can get into San Pedro one of three ways: through the Harbor Freeway (110) which is at the opposite end of the Pasadena Freeway, broken up by downtown and--- you guessed it--- USC. My whole life in Los Angeles has been marked by two freeways: the Harbor Freeway and the 405, which intersect far from the stomping grounds of Sunset and Westwood Blvd and Figueroa and Exposition. Between Pasadena and San Pedro. In 1972, my family left Pasadena for San Pedro. We entered into the war zone.
San Pedro is a Trojan town. This is the bottom line. We are, like my cousin Chris at the game last Saturday, the only blue shirts in a sea of cardinal and gold. For all of our lives my cousins and I were the only UCLA supporters amongst everyone around us. Even my descent into the pit of hell as I began studies on the campus between Fig and Exposition did not sway me to the other side.
Until this year.
Zack Heberer is my cousin Chris Linscomb’s brother-in-law. Zack was a star lineman for San Pedro High School, earning all city and all Marine league honors. He made 2005 Super Prep All-American, Super Prep All-Farwest, Prep Star All-Western, Tacoma News-Tribune Western 100, Cal-Hi Sports All-State first team, All-L.A. City first team, Los Angeles Times All-Star, South Bay Daily Breeze All-South Bay first team, Long Beach Press-Telegram Dream Team first team and All-Marine League MVP as a senior offensive and defensive lineman at San Pedro (Calif.) High...He had 56 tackles and 9 sacks in 2005...As a junior in 2004, he made All-L.A. City, South Bay Daily Breeze All-South Bay second team and All-Marine League first team. He was heavily recruited by colleges across the country—especially Oregon and--- you guessed it--- USC. I have known Zack since he was a scrawny little second grader. I went to high school (and college) with his uncle Chris; his uncle Carl married one of my best friends from elementary school, Julie. So when my cousin started dating Zack’s oldest sister, Heidi, it was a Pedro match made in heaven. Remember I said Zack was a scrawny little second grader? Well now, I am 5’10 and I have to reach up on my tiptoes to hug him and he has to lean down to hug me. Zack is now 6’5” and about 280 pounds. He is not little. He is not big. He is a hulk of a kid, recruited to play on the offensive line for USC.
I teach in the religion department at USC as part of my program. This semester I taught two sections of Religion 140, Religion and Ethics in America. As I was calling roll in last August, I was getting to know my students’ names and as I began calling names, I noticed one young man, sitting in the back, quiet and keeping to himself. I noticed him because he reminded me so much of my cousin Chris in looks--- part Asian, part black, part American Indian---the “ethnic utility man” as we call Chris and his brothers David and Mark. A nice perfect blend of southern Americana and charm. I continued calling names. “Emmanuel?” He answered, smiling slightly. I made note and moved on.
The next week, Emmanuel missed class and stayed after class when he returned. “Miss Dunn,” he said politely, “I missed class last week because I traveled with the team to Arizona and I would like to get the assignment I missed.”
The team?
“You play football, Emmanuel?”
“Yes, Miss Dunn.” (he is so polite and called me Miss Dunn up until a week ago- it’s a combination of Texas charm and being raised right at home by his mom to be respectful.)
“Do you know Zack?”
“Heberer?”
“Yes.”
And so the recognition began. Family ties were once again secured, and at the next family gathering, Zack asked me, “So Moody’s in your class, huh?”
Emmanuel Moody, like his friend and team mate Zack Heberer, is very a very humble young man. He made 2005 Parade All-American, Prep Star Dream Team, ESPN 150, Super Prep All-American, Prep Star All-American, Super Prep All-Southwest, Prep Star All-Midlands and All-District first team as a senior running back at Coppell High...He ran for 1,170 yards and 14 TDs in 2005...As a junior in 2004, he was All-District 6-5A first team as he rushed for 1,319 yards with 12 TDs. His choice to attend USC was announced on ESPN last spring. I asked him recently how many colleges were trying to recruit him last year. “All of them,” he shrugged. Emmanuel came to college with a 3.2 GPA. I think because he was far away from home (Dallas area) and looked so much like my family, I kind of adopted him. Under a sea of hulking Oregon/Cal/Stanford (etc)n players I would scream “Get off of my boy!!” I would bring Emmanuel copies of the Sunday paper to send to his mom at home in Texas. (“I don’t read the local papers, Miss Dunn,” he said to me at the beginning of the year. “This is the L.A. Times, Emmanuel, not some little hometown 3000 readership publication!” I said, exasperated.)
In my class, where many of my colleagues have said, “You’re such a mom…” to my students, Emmanuel became like one of own children. Because of Emmanuel and Zack, I started paying attention to stats and started watching football games on Saturday. I paid attention to who was playing whom. I even knew what BCS stood for. And, like being a Bruin was coded genetically into me, I guess all those years of being forced to watch Monday Night Football and accompanying my mom and aunt to UCLA season ticket holders games really did do something…I understood exactly what those stats and what all those plays meant and what was at stake for USC last Saturday.
I also understand what a win over USC means to UCLA. Normally, if this was any other year in the past eight seasons, I would be rejoicing in the streets with all five UCLA fans in San Pedro (most of them are related to me). I would laugh at all the stuffed bears on a noose draggers around campus last week, smile smugly, and proudly display my UCLA Alumni license plate frame. I would call of my friends who are USC grads and really rub it in. But the year that this one kind of mattered to me, because of my pride in my students and family, it just doesn’t seem as sweet. Like my cousin told me, as he’s sitting in this hushed sea of cardinal and gold, “As a brother-in-law, I just couldn’t gloat, you know?”
But hey, the Rose Bowl (the game, not the stadium) isn’t too bad of a place to be either. Coach Carroll is very gracious, as is Coach Dorrell. Both teams have learned from this game and it is UCLA’s time to shine around the word “upset”. I will cheer loudly in Pasadena come January 1st. And for my two kids on the team, I may wear the cardinal and gold Burberry scarf in my closet. Maybe.
# posted by carolyn @ 6:14 PM
