White Men Can't Jump . . . or can they?





















I was in Watts today, and I couldn't pass up the chance to visit Simon Rodia's house, Watts Towers. It's my second trip here, and like before, the place is quiet. I guess growing up in Southern California, watching tv news and reading the local papers, I'm always expecting to see street gangs on the prowl in this part of town.  Not that there haven't been, but I've never seen them.  For me, the Towers attack like magnets.  Viewing the hand-craft up close boggles the mind, expands the imagination, brings smiles.

Watts also pops up in a favorite film of mine, White Men Can't Jump. This area looked much different back in '92.  Now, fresh coats of multi-colored paint spank the flyover bridge to the Metro station, and manicured landscapes surround the grounds. Next to the church, new homes sprout like April flowers.




A beautiful Fall day: blue skies and crisp air. The church and basketball court are still here (just behind me and across the street), where Woodie and Wesley shot some hoops; but today it all looked so much smaller. There wasn't a soul around except me, some stray dogs and these park-n-rec guys.


















The site is currently closed to visitors and undergoing restoration work, but the grandeur is still evident. I could spend weeks trying to capture the magic with my camera and never get it. But I snapped away. It will re-open next year.























The rainbow colors quickly catch the eye, but this is not something planned, or consciously considered; it's wild, raw and untamed.






This is just one in a series of panels that tell the story of the site and the current restoration.

























This entrance is intriguing. I can't wait to enter in 2009.























I last visited the Towers April 29, 1992. The short stop interrupted an early morning return trip to LAX: my brother was flying back to Hawaii after a week-long vacation to the mainland. We had fun that week. Unknown to me, my brother had purchased tickets to a hi-fi convention, and we had a great time checking out all the latest stereo equipment. A mini-concert by Mike Garson easily overwhelmed all the futuristic audio hardware, though, and demonstrated simply and concisely how a live performance can trump any audio source, not matter how high the fidelity. But I digress.






That sunny April day in '92 also marked the beginning of the LA riots. Although I had been following the Rodney King trial, I had no idea the verdict was scheduled to be delivered that day. Anyway, after viewing the towers for about an hour, my brother and I continued on. We had lunch at a diner near the airport, and then I dropped him at the curb and headed home. By the time I arrived, the city had exploded into a violent fiery mess. I sat transfixed in front of the TV for hours. I'm still a little shocked at how close my brother and I came to being caught up in the fray, and whenever I catch myself sulking, I recall that day in '92 and count my blessings. Now here I am, back at the site. And it's the day after the 2008 presidential election. For half a minute, I thought I might be caught-up in a similar outpouring of emotion: a wild release of pent-up angst, and I looked forward to it. Looks like I missed again.
































This multi-level scaffolding is a sight in itself. It provides some height perspective to the towers which stand about 100 feet tall.
























It's almost too much detail to fully appreciate in a single visit.











Rodia captured this wonderful green hew by using thousands of 7 Up, Squirt, Bubble Up and Canada Dry bottles. Click on the photo to get a sharper image.