L.A. Noir: The Struggle for the Soul of America's Most Seductive City

      JURY SELECTION BEGAN in February 1992. At the end of the month, prosecutors faced an all-white jury. On March 2, 1992, one day short of the first anniversary of the Rodney King incident, the trial got under way. In the mind of the public, the Rodney King beating was a straightforward case of police brutality. But in the courtroom, matters weren’t so clear-cut. Rodney King had led the police on a high-speed car chase. As the arresting officers feared, he was an intoxicated ex-con. Tests for PCP proved inconclusive, but officers’ fears were understandable in light of what had occurred before the famous videotape started running. King had thrown off four officers who attempted to “swarm” him and had then shaken off two attempts to subdue him with a Taser, before charging the police. All of these factors lent credence to the claims made by officers on the scene that they believed they were dealing with someone high on PCP, whom they were endeavoring to subdue without shooting him. On the afternoon of April 29, 1992, the jury acquitted the four police officers on all but one of the charges.

The jury in Simi Valley had been out for deliberation for almost a week. As the days passed, anxiety in South-Central Los Angeles had steadily grown. Watts had come as a horrible surprise, a massive riot whose precipitating incident had been a random California Highway Patrol stop. But by 1992, most residents of Los Angeles understood the possibility of urban violence. When the jury told the presiding judge it had reached a verdict, the court immediately informed the LAPD—and delayed the courtroom opening of the verdict for two hours, a decision that gave the LAPD time to prepare. But with a handful of exceptions, no preparations were made.

For a department that had long been obsessed with its failure to contain the Watts riots, the apparent lack of concern about what might ensue in the event of an acquittal was curious. But even if no operational preparations for trouble had commenced, it would have been reasonable to expect that the LAPD now had the tactics, training, and materiel to respond to a Watts-style insurrection. After all, Chief Gates himself had seen the inadequacies of the department’s earlier preparations. He had also seen the danger of withdrawing from a riot area in the hope that an outbreak of violence would burn itself out. LAPD policy was clear: The department would respond with overwhelming force (which included two armored personnel carriers) to any outbreak of civil unrest, arresting and prosecuting everyone involved and cordoning off the area so that the violence would not spread.

At least, that was the theory. But as angry crowds gathered at the intersection of 55th and Normandie, the LAPD once again seemed utterly unprepared. Worse, it seemed complacent. Requests to deploy the elite Metro unit in riot gear had been rebuffed on the theory that “riots don’t happen during the daytime.” No tear gas had been distributed; requests to deploy rubber bullets had been rejected; and no instructions had been provided to officers at the 77th Street station, which was located in the heart of South-Central. By 5:30 p.m., rioting had begun. Its epicenter was the intersection of Florence and Normandie. As in Watts, a crowd had assembled near the scene where police were making an arrest—and the crowd was quickly turning ugly. The LAPD now faced its post-Watts moment of truth. But instead of clearing the mob and seizing control of the intersection, as post-Watts operating procedure called for, LAPD personnel on the scene pulled back. By 5:45, the rioters had the streets to themselves.

The mood at police headquarters (known since 1969 as Parker Center) was oddly unconcerned. In recent months, the once-defiant Gates had become disengaged. Everyone expected that he would resign soon but no one knew when. As for Mayor Bradley, who had not spoken to his police chief in thirteen months, he seemed more concerned about the possibility that the LAPD might spark violence by overreacting than about the violence that was already unfolding. Neither man seemed able to grasp the reality of what was happening. When a reporter stopped Chief Gates at half past six that evening and asked how the LAPD was responding to the growing unrest, he paused and then placidly replied that the department was responding “calmly, maturely, and professionally.” Then he left for a fund-raiser in Mandeville Canyon in distant Brentwood. Its purpose was to raise money to oppose Amendment F, the amendment to the city charter proposed by the Christopher Commission that would give the mayor authority to select the police chief and limit future police chiefs to two five-year terms.