14th in a series.
One night last week, I was attacked in the hip NoHo enclave near my house in Valley Village. I was on my way to the corner of Magnolia and Lankershim to pick up a pizza. There was a dark city parking lot next door, bordering two alleys. Knowing what has transpired in the neighborhood with the proliferation of homeless people, I decided that it was too dangerous to park there. So I circled until I found a space on Magnolia across from the restaurant. As I was about to open the car door, a guy came out of nowhere, disheveled with a deranged, drug-induced swagger. He jumped onto the hood of my car, bringing his face forward into the windshield, staring at me with a menacing, hideous grin. And stayed there.
No one was around.
I clearly wasn’t going to exit the car. My attacker continued to push his face into the windshield, his mouth now open and toothy. What might happen next? Did he have a gun? A knife? A hammer? With his grinning face still in my window, I maintained the presence of mind to review my options. I could start the engine, swerve and accelerate pushing him off into traffic, and in self-defense, let the chips fall where they may. But then I realized as long as he hadn’t produced a weapon, I was safe in my locked car. Having given up the driving-off option, I got angry and frustrated, acknowledging I was now being forced to take responsibility for the attacker’s well-being. Yeah, that had now become a responsibility that no person in this situation should ever be made to assume. So I stared right back at him and expressed my anger by laying on the horn for about 30 seconds. He jumped off, pulled down his pants, took out his private part and pointed it at me. Then he ran off.
I didn’t really feel fear throughout the ordeal — it was more anger and disgust and even sadness that this is what is now being allowed. Our sense of security is being diminished. Our safety, well-being and freedoms are under assault, instilling fear in everyone — including our children and grandchildren.
When I walked into the restaurant, I was greeted with a cheery, “How’s your evening going?” The staff gathered around as I told them what happened. The manager responded that stuff like this is now a regular occurrence and is affecting business. He walked me and my pizza to the car. I had lost my appetite, but I found it when I resolved not to give my attacker even that victory.
In a society that is now focused on mental health, what does this mean for my own mental health and all the other victims in this city — many who have actually experienced physical assault and rape, and the family members of the musician killed by a homeless guy who jumped his fence last year? Do the supporters of the freedoms of the homeless consider this? Does the mayor? Does District Attorney George Gascon? Does Councilwoman Nithya V. Raman when she writes about the mental health crisis on L.A.’s streets?
I care about “unhoused” human beings “experiencing homelessness.” They indeed deserve dignity and societal care and justice. But so do I, and that includes my family, friends and neighbors. Attackers cannot be allowed the freedom to attack and go unpunished because of their traumas. My so-called “entitled privilege” doesn’t entitle them to assault.
A few weeks ago, there was yet another “smash and grab” robbery at a department store in the West Valley, terrorizing employers and shoppers. The mayor released a statement: “This is unacceptable and the people must be held accountable.” I wrote her office, “No, this is not ‘unacceptable,’ this is ‘criminal,’ and the people must not be held ‘accountable,’ they must be charged with a crime and brought to justice.”
I know these things are not easy to solve. I know the roots of the problems are complex. But there is an outcome that is clear: L.A. is falling deeper into chaos. How many of us are going to have to be assaulted before things improve?
I know these things are not easy to solve. I know the roots of the problems are complex. But there is an outcome that is clear: L.A. is falling deeper into chaos. How many of us are going to have to be assaulted before things improve?
What does this have to do with creative aging? Plenty. The older I get, the more precious life becomes.
Gary Wexler woke up one morning and found he had morphed into an old Jewish guy.
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