Malcolm X's Zip-Gun Ballpoint Pen

In the mid-1960s, my sister, her son, and I were invited to the Black Muslim mosque in Los Angeles to hear the boxing champion Muhammad Ali (formerly Cassius Clay) speak. At the time he refused to be inducted into the army and possibly shipped off to Vietnam, to participate in a war he opposed.

We were invited to the mosque by a man who ran a TV-radio repair shop next door to my sister's house on Compton Boulevard in Compton and who was a member of the religious group. I remember him giving my sister a copy of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad's book, Message to the Black Man.

When we got to the mosque, a member removed my retractable ballpoint pen from my shirt pocket and aimed it at me, clicking the top with his thumb several times. The late Afro-Caribbean writer Orde Coombs, in an essay in one of his books, reported a similar experience. At the time I didn't understand why that was done. It wasn't until I recently read a biography of the late black journalist, Louis Lomax, that it started to make sense.

Thomas Aiello, in his book The Life & Times of Louis Lomax: The Art of Deliberate Disunity (Duke University Press, 2011), wrote that Lomax "claimed that during Malcolm [X]'s final trip to Los Angeles, he and a friend were followed by a black limousine and that Malcolm carried a 'zip-gun ball point pen' so as to take one of them with him when he went."

Compton And Los Angeles Are Separate Cities

In the New York Times obituary (July 4, 2025) of the prolific hip hop choreographer for films and TV, Dave Scott, who grew up in Compton, California, and died in Las Vegas at age 52, Compton is described as "the city in South Central Los Angeles." I've lived and attended public schools in both places and know, if the obituary writer doesn't, that Compton is a city near Los Angeles, not in Los Angeles.

The obituary writer would have been on firmer ground if he or she or they had written that Compton is a city located in Los Angeles County.

Being Black And Gay In Los Angeles

"There was a time, my uncle Syl [a retired actor in Black Gay Hollywood] once told me, when gay men in Los Angeles lived as much, if not more, on the margins as black folks. But if things got too hot, white gays always had the option to go back into the closet, back to passing themselves off as masters of the universe. Not so their black counterparts, who at the end of the day were still black, still on the outside looking in."--LAPD detective Charlotte Justice (fictional character), from Inner City Blues by Paula L. Woods (W.W. Norton, 1999), Page 269.

I am always amazed that black women writers like Paula L. Woods and Gloria Naylor are more open to including black gay and lesbian characters in their fiction than many of their black male peers.

A Glaring Historical Error

There's a glaring historical error that I found in James McGrath Morris's otherwise interesting biography of journalist Ethel Payne, Eyes on the Struggle: Ethel Payne, the First Lady of the Black Press (Amistad/HarperCollins, 2015).

Morris, on the Acknowledgments page, praised Nancy Inglis for her "diligent copyediting and fact checking." Unfortunately, she neglected to fact check when the Watts riots in Los Angeles happened. The riots occurred in August 1965, not August 1964.

At the time, I was living in the nearby suburb of Compton, which experienced some of the looting and burning.

A Secret Police Ritual

For those of us outside of law enforcement, there are police rituals known only to cops. One of them is the K party, mentioned in Michael Connelly's crime novel, The Late Show (Little, Brown and Co., 2017), featuring Renee Ballard, a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. (The book is a page-turner.)

What is a K party, you ask? It stands for kill party. Connelly describes it this way: "It had once been a secret tradition for officers to gather and drink after one of them had killed someone. It was a way of releasing the tension of a life-and-death encounter."

Connelly probably learned of this "secret tradition" of the LAPD during his time as a newspaper reporter.

It's not far-fetched to assume that such a ritual still exists in the LAPD and other big-city police departments. I'm sure it would be almost impossible to get a police officer today to admit to its existence or their participation in one, fearing the reaction of the public as well as elected officials.

It's also not far-fetched to assume that tensions between the police and the black community being what they are, for the members of that community to say that the "K" in K party stood for the Klan, as in the Ku Klux Klan.

A postscript: The late show referred to in the book's title is presumably what the LAPD in real life call the 11 pm to 7 am shift.

Looking For Work Via Television

On city-owned WNYE/Channel 25 in New York, there was a weekly program called Job Hunt that aired right after the 2008 financial crisis that caused mass layoffs and housing foreclosures across the country.

Each week different guests would discuss a particular job-search topic and critique the job-search strategy of that week's job seeker who was someone the New York Daily News had profiled in its Monday career section.

As the job seeker spoke of his or her job search goals, they would appear on-camera from different angles. This approach reminded me of the time my mother went on TV seeking employment as a domestic worker. This was in the early 1960s when we were living in Los Angeles.

She went on the John J. Anthony Show, which was an advice show broadcast from a studio at 1313 North Vine Street in Hollywood. I think the show was on Channel 9, KHJ-TV. As I sat in the studio, I could see her image on the black-and-white monitors. They wouldn't show her whole face, unlike the Job Hunt broadcasts. The camera would focus on her hands, her mouth, maybe a side view as she was being interviewed by John J. Anthony's wife. Mrs. Anthony was so short that she had to sit on a telephone book behind a large desk.

In a far corner of the studio was the psychic Criswell, who might have been a regular feature of the show. His famous line before each prediction was "I predict...." Years later when I saw the biopic Ed Wood, about the world's worst film director, and starring Johnny Depp as Wood, the actor portraying Criswell brought me back to the time I saw him in the flesh.

After my mother's TV appearance, I vaguely recall her receiving a few job offers. You could say that John J. Anthony (1902-1970) whose real name was Lester Kroll and who at one time had been an actor, was doing back then a forerunner to today's video resume.

I often wonder if that particular show was recorded and if so, does it exist in some vault somewhere? For all I know, it might be on YouTube, like everything else these days.

PBS To Air Documentary On Slain Mexican-American Journalist

Shortly after Mexican-American journalist Ruben Salazar's untimely death in 1970 at the age of 42, I received from the Los Angeles Times a booklet containing some of his columns for the paper. In the back of the booklet was the eulogy delivered by Times publisher Otis Chandler at Salazar's funeral.
Said Chandler: "He [Salazar] was a fighter, a firm believer that all men, regardless of color or language barrier, could, in the end, live together peacefully and productively in our city.


"But he knew that before this could happen," continued Chandler, "the Anglo community had to understand the basic problems in the minority communities."

The Los Angeles Times published an article (January 8, 2014) that reported that on April 29, PBS will air a documentary called Ruben Salazar: Man in the Middle. I eagerly await the broadcast of this documentary about a courageous and important journalist whose name and work should never be forgotten.

No doubt public radio's On the Media will do a segment on the documentary prior to its scheduled airdate.

At Home With The Bronze Liberace

Embedded in the sidewalk in front of the Apollo Theatre in Harlem is a gold-colored plaque with Little Richard's name on it. It is part of the Apollo's "Walk of Fame," which includes other African-American entertainment luminaries like Ella Fitzgerald and Michael Jackson.

Among those who have walked past the theatre, I am probably the only one who has set foot in the Los Angeles home of the man filmmaker and author John Waters said referred to himself as the Bronze Liberace.

In the early 1960s, my mother and I lived in an apartment building in South Central Los Angeles. We had a neighbor named Millie, who had been in show business and knew Little Richard. One evening we went along with her, her husband, and their daughter to Little Richard's house, which was a duplex. My memories of the evening are vague because at the time I was about 11 or 12 years old. But I do remember seeing Little Richard sitting at the piano with people gathered around singing. I do remember going upstairs and seeing people inside a room watching television with the door slightly open. If I had been ten years older, I would have remembered a lot more.