Beyond any iota of doubt one particular guy that suffered the unfairness of institutionalized racism more then anyone in BVN was Sal Cortinez. Ripped out of his geographical surroundings, family and friends, he learned to read by the graffiti on the wall written inside locked unlit lonely rooms. Far away from home he learned the way to survive. Just an emotionally unsophisticated boy he had to feel his way throughout his young life in the darkness of abandonment. No one gave the word recidivism definition like Sal did. Reform school and uniforms became a way of life very early on. A product of BVN and the earliest Icon of life in his neighborhood. Su placaso era Salva. His love for family was unsurpassed. There was a brotherhood he held between Easy, Jackie and somewhere along the line, Me. As a young boy he was an outstanding athlete in baseball, football, basketball but his fame, above all, was rebote or handball, if you will. It all came easy to him. He had a promise never to be realized in the levels of professional competitiveness. He stood alone. Never in anyones shadow. He was fearsome and no one could nor would even give him an askance look on his bad day. He was spoken about but what was said of him was true not the illusion often painted out. He is a story of heart break, misery, distress, isolation, deprivation, and an infinite hunger for love. In prison since 19 years old he rarely breathed the open air. He learned the way of city life in fleeting interims. In and out and in again but mostly in. In for stretches beyond understanding. He hardly knew the security of a family circle, its why he held it so dear to his heart until the day he died. His spirit and his image lived in the conversations held by those who rode his coattail but could never hold a candle. Sal didnt have a conventional education but his native intelligence made him s fighter for inner freedom. He never gave in. Racism would never break him down and like many of us, he paid the price. If anyone was said to be neglected or overlooked it was Salva. I always wondered why he had such an unfair existence. It was like Sal had been cursed in some way. The truth of love was in his heart but he denied that he wanted and needed it. Though he gave it to his wide circle of family members to which included Ruben, Peter, Ray, Gene and along the line somewhere, me. He once gave me a loaded rifle and said look after them. I did. He showed me trust and he found I was worthy of it. I was inclined to follow his footsteps but the fate he had was not to be the same course for me. I never stopped looking up to him, though. Very few remember Salva; for all they know he is a fabrication of folklore. Nevertheless, he made his mark. Brother to Rosie, Sally, Keta, Ruben and Maryellen, he is remembered in the image of a loving brother, uncle, cousin and friend. If you were his friend you had a rock solid and formidable ally. Just ask anyone. I remember Salva from the earliest days. Believe it or not he was once timid and intimidated by his peers. I remember the day he emerged from his shell. The gas station on the corner of Kester Ave and Delano was being prepared for installation. The first thing they did was dig a big hole in the ground where the gas tanks were to be placed. These tanks would hold the gasoline that would flow into the gas tank of each car making their 29 cents a gallon purchase. On a day, just an ordinary day, we went to play at this hole. Salva was down in the hole and some of the kids threw rocks down at him and laughing and ridiculing him. Salva coward and was clearly intimidated by these guys. Except that Salva did the unexpected. He reached his limit, came up from the hole angry as hell and beat the hell out of guy who instigated the rock throwing. This was the transition that saw Salva become the most formidable figure in the barrio. He gained a new awareness about himself and discovered his physical abilities were incomparable. Salva was never the same after that. His level of confidence went through the roof. Yet, he was still just a little boy. Not even twelve years old. It may have been an unfortunate transition because he it was this kind of energy that got jim into trouble. At age nineteen Sal got into serious trouble and wound up going to prison for a long time. His charges should never have been treated as serious. He had an Anglo girlfriend and they were consensually intimate. Everyone knew about their relationship and everyone knew her mother was racist. The girlfriend happened to be under age and the mother pressed for a rape charge. Sal was Chicano and during those days White and Chicano relationships werent appreciated in white society. This put Sal in a bad situation and this was the beginning of his imprisonment, parole, and prison again. It became a cycle and Sal never got a break. Most of his life was spent locked up behind bars. The last two times I saw Sal was in Panorama City where we went to a bar and conversed over a beer. Our cousin Jackie was with us so you know we did a lot of laughing and bull shitting. We had a lot of fun. The next time I saw him was when he came out of an apartment where he may have been seeing a girlfriend and he was getting into his car. We talked for just a little while and then we parted. I never saw Sal again. I remember his laughter and his joking, as though nothing was wrong in his life. He had a good personality. He was easy to like. You couldnt tell he had a violent side to him but prison life will do that. I have other memories of him. They had to do with things not conforming to the law. It had to do with me as a kid guarding illegally confiscated property like washing machines and dryers. I was entrusted by a group of guys that Sal was a part of to guard these things. Once I was almost popped with these things by a detective we called Sputnik. He tried to push the door open but I didnt let him and I pushed the door back. He didnt have a warrant. We called him Sputnik after the Sputnik that shot into the universe in the fifties by the Russians. Sputnik was kind of heavy set and had a bald head. It was because of his big bald head that someone dubbed him Sputnik. It stuck. I remember once that we were just hanging out under the big tree during the day in front of the Cabreras house on Delano Street. He pulled in and we said to him; Hey Sputnik, as if to say Hi. He laughed and seemed kind of embarrassed by it and asked us why we called him that. He was already aware that we called him that. We laughed out loud in response. He laughed too. You see, Sputnik made a career out of arresting a lot of the Vatos from the barrio. He didnt live long enough to retire though. We heard that he was shot and killed by a vato that he was chasing for some reason; in Pacoima. We didnt hear anything after that and we never saw him again. We all just said,Oh, well, and that was the end of that. But then there was someone else who took his place. Anyway, I helped guard the goods. Right now Im wondering if I was ever monetarily rewarded for the risk I took. I think I may have been about fifteen years old. I remember that it made me feel important in their eyes and I felt good about it. So what did I know anyway? I was only about fifteen. That house was on the Southeast corner of Kester and Delano Street. Jackie, my cousin lived there. Thats the same house a man shot and killed his wife, once, through the window when they were living there. I remember the Tejedas moved in a while after that. That house has a history. I hope the Tejedas had better luck there. Salva was also a victim of the LAUSD MR School system. Just like me he was tracked through the MR Classes, as was my oldest brother. OMG. We gave the teachers nothing but hell. We were justified and they had it coming and we had no regrets. My little brother was also a victim but he went to another school. They had miserable lives and they all died early. Victims of a racist society. We manifested our intelligence with our profound anger. This all started as a story about my cousin Salva. He took care of me when I was small and he intervened in my behalf on occasion and took care of business. We were family then and as for Jackie, Salva, Easy and me, we had a philosophy. You dont mess with family. Orale.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Aug 2014 07:32:15 +0000
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