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I think I spent the next few days crying for Reginald Denny and also for the circumstances that had me in Inglewood during the riots I had no control over.  I was having a Pity Party, to be sure! 

Every day, I was afraid to venture outside because I was at 109th and Crenshaw...almost in the heart of the riots.  I was a white face in a sea of blackness.  The good thing was that those in the little shopping square across the street (The M and M Cafe drew many people in Rolls Royces and big Mercedez-Benzes) had seen me and knew that I was "at risk."

My roomie came down to see if his car was OK.  It was.  He left it in my care.  I was unemployed, with no car, no phone and nowhere to go.  I smelled the smoke from burning businesses and ran outside periodically to make sure the garages were still safe. 

I heard a rumbling coming up Crenshaw, and had no clue.  So I unlocked the security door to see a bevy/throng/battallion of motorcycles going north up the boulevard.  Believe it or not, Hell's Angels and other biker clubs came together to patrol the streets.  I was still scared, but I was also relieved to know "SOMEONE" was there for ME!  It was a night that seemed to last forever.  And somewhere around midnight, I heard more big motors.

Since I was mostly sleepless, being unemployed and with no lifelines, I went back out onto the porch and saw, much to my surprise, an entire convoy of Humvees and other military vehicles, and I knew, as they passed in the next 30 minutes, that I was going to be okay.  The US National Guard had been called out to patrol the streets and make sure folks like me were still alive and in no danger. 

As the days went by, I realized I would survive this latest challenge, though I realized also that I was estranged from both of my children and most of my siblings.  Both of my parents had passed on 20 and 40 years before, so there was no support available for me that I could see. 

And it was very plain to me that in spite of scoring 100% on the DOS and Lotus 1-2-3 tests that Norell gave me, I knew there were to be no jobs for me in Southern California.  My choice, for good or ill, was to move back to Las Vegas, and try to find work.  At least I might be able to find enough temporary work to keep me from starving.  But I also needed to find a place to live. 

Some of my symptoms were becoming obvious again:  fatigue, achy joints, short-term memory, confusion, inability to concentrate, math and spelling skill were compromised and I found that even simple decisions were excruciatingly difficult.  My vision began to blur, and I had a hard time reading.