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

“But just now I was told that I could not go to Disneyland.” I asked, “Why not? What is it? Do you have rocket-launching pads there? I do not know.” And just listen—just listen—to what I was told—to what reason I was told. We, which means the American authorities, cannot guarantee your security if you go there.

What is it? Is there an epidemic of cholera there or something? Or have gangsters taken over the place that can destroy me? Then what must I do? Commit suicide? This is the situation I am in—your guest. For me the situation is inconceivable. I cannot find words to explain this to my people!

Instead of going to Disneyland, Khrushchev’s motorcade drove around UCLA and then visited a San Fernando Valley subdivision. That evening during a dinner at the Ambassador Hotel, Khrushchev vented his frustrations about Mayor Poulson’s perceived rudeness. “If you persist in this,” he warned, “there can be no talk of disarmament.” He left for San Francisco the next day, still in a snit.

Chief Parker was offended too—by the implication that the LAPD wasn’t up to protecting the Soviet premier. At a press conference the day after Khrushchev’s departure, Parker described the performance of his department as “one of the greatest examples of proficiency ever demonstrated.” Parker’s reaction to Khrushchev’s jibe about Los Angeles’s gangsters is unknown.

      PARKER didn’t have to wait long for retribution from Moscow. In late 1959, Parker received news that the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights was planning to visit Los Angeles in order to ascertain local civil rights conditions.

The commission’s interest in Los Angeles was understandable. In little over a decade, Los Angeles had become one of the most diverse cities in the country. Close to 700,000 Mexican Americans lived in L.A.—more than in any other city in the world except for Mexico City. Its Jewish population, numbering roughly 400,000 people, was exceeded only by that of New York City. Most surprising of all was the size of its black population. In 1930, only 39,000 African Americans lived in Los Angeles. By 1960, the black population numbered 424,000. Los Angeles had the fifth largest African American community in the nation (behind New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Detroit)—far larger than any city in the South. And roughly 1,700 new black residents were arriving every day. But instead of opportunity, many found crowded, expensive housing, low-wage jobs, and simmering racial resentment. The result, according to the Los Angeles County Commission on Human Relations, was a dangerous increase in tensions. In the second half of 1959 alone, there had been more than sixty racial “incidents,” from cross burnings to telephone harassment, almost all of them instigated by whites. Naturally, the Civil Rights Commission was interested in learning more about how the city was responding. But when it contacted Parker about testifying, the chief of the LAPD declined.

For years, Parker had endured attacks on his force for brutality and discrimination. Factually, charge after charge had been disproven—at least in Parker’s mind. Yet if anything, the volume and vehemence of the attacks were increasing. To Parker, the explanation was clear: Moscow was stepping up its attacks. Appearing in a public forum that was sure to be a sounding board for criticism of the police would only further its goals. Parker replied that he would provide the commission with factual evidence but he would not appear to testify before it.

Commission members were taken aback by this summary rejection. In mid-December, two staff members flew in from Washington to meet with the chief to assure him they were eager to obtain balanced testimony. Reluctantly, Parker agreed to appear before the commission. The hearings would begin January 25, 1960, and last for two days. Parker was scheduled to be the last speaker on the second morning of hearings.