How I Helped To Gentrify East LA

In the fall of 2005, I started working weekend nights as a doorman at a neighborhood bar called The Boulevard. In many ways, The Boulevard was ahead of its time in the sense that it rode a wave that catered to a burgeoning class of the generation of gentrification — in love with the name and reputation of living in East Los Angeles, but not the community. For a precedent, please see Harlem.

In 50 years, there will be a statue erected in Edward James Olmos’ honor, but it will not be for his roles in “Stand and Deliver” or “Zoot Suit,” instead, the hipsters will rise and recognize him for his science fiction triumph as Admiral William Adama on “Battlestar Galactica.” The spot created an outlet for local bands to define their talents, but most of the time the successful bands were the ones who commuted from other areas of Southern California in order to play in East Los Angeles. I always had a feeling they did better because their ill-knitted legions of fans (which consisted of the band’s friends, their significant others and their friends) came out to see them play, so they can say they were witness to a show in East Los Angeles.

I took $5 dollars from each person at the door; $2 went to management and $2 went back to the band; the remaining $1 went to me. I wish I could tell you that Jim Morrison rose from the grave and The Doors reunited for the night, but that never happened.  I wish I could tell you that Kurt Cobain strapped on a guitar with news that he had faked his death. The truth is, there really weren’t any bands of note that played The Boulevard.

I think that most people came expecting to experience something. They wanted an escape from death they could bring home with them. In a way, I felt they wanted to take a picture in a huge sombrero with a cholo punching a donkey. Cholos showed up from time to time pretending to run the place. They would puff up their chests and expect some sort of compensation. Sometimes they would win, but most times they would end up talking to themselves. I always felt sorriest for them; because when it comes to gentrification they always lose the most. Their identities were usually compromised to the point where even Jimmy Smiths can be a cholo on the big screen.

I never broke up a fight, and deep down the boss must have known that I would not. My job was to take the money once people came in through the door. I am not the type to risk my neck to protect something that someone else owns – especially when it is ground zero for sanitized gentrification.

I was a little bit disappointed in myself, because I did not put up a fight when the hipsters came in. Instead I guarded the gates watching who came in and out, a dollar a time.

[Screenshot By ComeGatos]

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