As Told By E. Renard Jackson____________________
Imagine, if you will, your worst nightmare come to light. A scene so devastating and so wildly inconceivable, that it could only happen to someone else. On January 4, 1989, I became that someone else, when I was beat down, struck down, and held against my will by drug crazed gangbangers. By a miracle of sorts I would survive, but it would take nearly two decades before I would find closure. To do so, I had to return to a place, that for all intent and purposes, became my ground zero--South Central Los Angeles. Why now? And why after all of these years? Because I needed to confront the ghost of that young dreamer who died inside of me that night, just to let him know that he can finally rest in peace. But more importantly, I needed that stronger and more confident man who would eventually emerge from the ruins, to walk among the streets of that same community that tried to destroy him, and whisper just beyond a breath, "I won..." Because he did.
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3:35 pm
As Michelle and I arrive at 132 West 74th Street, a deep sadness rushes through my body. After all of these years, here I am at the exact spot where I was certain my life would come to an end. It was an eerie feeling, to say the least, but it was something that needed to be done. We stayed in the car and just talked for maybe twenty minutes. I needed time to get my nerves in check before taking one of the most important and necessary steps in my life. In truth, my expectations were low for this trip. I imagined that Michelle and I would just walk around the neighborhood, take a few pictures, while I reflected upon the moment. But what would eventually take place would not only take me by surprise, it would literally send my entire foundation into a deep spin...
3:55pm
I’m standing in front of the house while Michelle is taking pictures of me from various angles. A couple of minutes into the shoot a woman of small stature, probably in her early to mid-seventies, and wearing silver framed glasses, walks toward the front gate where I’m standing. Presumably the home owner, I can understand her being a little antsy about two strangers gathering in front of her residence. Feeling a need to smooth things over quickly, I decided to put her mind to ease by sharing with her the story of what brought us to this particular location. I proceeded to tell her about a very special woman, who more than twenty years ago, stood at this very spot where I was beaten with a baseball bat, held at gun point, knife point, and placed in a car against my will. This stranger, whom I have often referred to over the years as my “Guardian Angel,” made her way through a literal mob scene to confront the men who were holding me captive. She warned them that under no uncertain terms they were to release me or she would forward their names and identities to the authorities. She was the ONLY ONE who fought for me that night. As I continued, I told her that for 20 years it haunted me on a daily basis that I had not been given the chance to say “thank you” to the stranger who saved my life. And that’s when she looked into my eyes and spoke the words that I thought I'd never hear, “You just did," she said. "I am that woman.”
At that very moment my body faded into a surreal state. I felt numb inside, not knowing whether or not I would break down and cry, or simply wander into disbelief. I was feeling the former, but my emotions led me to the latter. When I finally settled back to earth, I just looked at her and asked if I could give her a big hug. "Sure you can," she replied.I held her close to my heart and thanked her for having the courage to stand up for me when no one else would. I wanted her to know that I had never stopped thinking about her, that I always kept her in my prayers. At last, she was no longer just a figment of my imagination. She was someone of flesh and blood, someone with a face and a name. "My friends call me Lou," she said. Understandably, I didn't want to let her go. In a day likened to a rollercoaster of emotions, there was not much more that I could take. But I knew there was still one more piece of unfinished business. You see, ironically enough, the woman who saved my life was also the mother of the man who tried to take my life. His name was Michael, that much I could recall. And like myself, he was a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When he struck me with that baseball bat, even in my pain, I saw a young man who knew he had just made a terrible mistake. That look in his eyes stayed with me over the years. Strangely enough, a part of me felt sorry for him. So today I knew what I had to do. I needed to forgive Michael so he--so both of us, could move on with our lives. Miss Lou guided Michelle and I about two blocks up the street to what looked like an old ice cream truck quietly parked along the curb, that had been converted into a mobile T-shirt business. "Michael, someone wants to see you," Miss Lou called out to the man sitting behind the wheel.
"Who is it? he asked.
"Just get out and see," she said.
Before Michael could untangle himself out of the front seat, I stood at the side of the doorless truck and looked directly into his eyes. As we made contact he looked as if he were staring into the eyes of a ghost. And that's partly true, because a little piece of me DID die on that night many years ago. He slowly stepped out of the truck and stood directly in front of me. And like a lost sinner waiting to cleanse his soul, he repeated over and over, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I gave him a warm embrace just to assure him that I had not come with any malice or ill will toward him. I explained to Michael that I decided to return to South Central, after all of these years, to begin my search for closure. And sure enough, I found it! I found it in Miss Lou. I found it in Michael. But most of all, we found it in each other.
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Michelle Taylor Greene for providing me with some great photos and for being such an inspirational presence in my life. You will always have a special place in my heart. And to my Mother, I want you to know that for all of the pain that my ordeal put our family through, you no longer have to worry about your youngest child ever again. I made it. We made it. And finally, to my late father, thank you for teaching me how to be a man, and the importance of getting up after the fall. I hope I made you proud.
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