From Rags to Riches? Nah, from Watts to Wattage

or Move in Barak Obama!



Bobby White Chesterfield was born in Watts, the South Central hood known for gang violence and the artistically fantastic Watts Towers, built from refuge, a.k.a. trash. He was lucky his family was intact, their home was far from Jordan Heights, the epicenter of gang clashes for years, right on the dividing line between territories of Bloods and Cripts.

He liked school, his nature was pleasant, he worked hard. On Sundays, at the downtown Los Angeles A.M.E. church, he was praised and cajoled to keep up the good work.

After his hard days of studies and exercise, he liked to look and watch the sunset over Los Angeles, so beautiful, Los Angeles so polluted.

As he grew up, but not tall enough for basketball, not sturdy enough for baseball, he found his passion in soccer, futebol as he heard it called by a couple of down-and-out Brazilian kids in the hood. he could score using either leg, an advantage over others, blind-legged right or left, as the Brazilian kids said.



One day, when he was in his very early twenties, he met a blonde on the track field at USC. He was lucky USC gave away scholarships for minorities and even jews, to quelch rumors USC was racist.

Her name was Susan, Susan Warfield. he liked her with reservations. She was white, he was black, he wanted no complications in his way to success. At church he listened to lots of advice. All of it contradictory.

Susan belonged to an Arkansan family, from Hope. Her folks had a little store and sold their stock to all peoples. She was madly in love with him, his skin color, which refracted light into rainbow colors, his taut muscles, his laughter and tenderness. She wished he could wear braces. Unfortunately, his family had neither the money nor did they know any better.

Susan finished Drama and he graduated in International Relations. By then his Spanish and Portuguese were fluent. His English followed standard norms. He had to say good-bye to Susan Warfield. She gave him a long and passionate kiss. Bobby White Chesterfield said he would be back soon.

A few tears were shed.




Five years went by. Bobby became a soccer star abroad. Susan a movie star in Hollywood.

They didn't forget their USC days. He came home to Watts. She went to meet him, with a couple of body guards, just in case there would be nosy photograpers around. Bobby and Susan kissed a lot more passionately then before. He had always been good with his legs; now he showed his prowess with his hands, caressing her, exploring her soft skin. She showed how well she had learned how to kiss in Hollywood, on the set and off it.



The ending was predictable. They married and settled in Brentwood. He never abused her and they lived happilly for ever after, helping Barak Obama and Hillary Clinton's campaigns.



So that he would never forget his roots, Bobby had Frank Ghoulry build a replica of the Watts Towers in his two-acre patio. Ghoulry, whose price can be measured in gold, paid special attention to details.



Bobby White Chesterfield could help kicking the architect's bony behind. HIs replica was increasing the temperature around his house and reflecting noise into chi-chi Brentwood. The architect agreed to a compensation but went to El Salvador, thinking he was going to Salvador, Bahia, in Brazil. There, Bobby White Chesterfield's saga was well known. This time Mr. Ghoulry met his Maker. Los Angeles sighed in relief.

humor
Los Angeles
race
dreams
Watts
fiction