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 Community leaders held a news conference Tuesday, Aug. 11, at Imperial Highway and Western Avenue in response to a spate of shootings in the Athens-Westmont area.
On Sunday night, Aug. 10, four Latino men were shot at the intersection. One died at the scene, two others a nearby hospital. At least two of the men were brothers.
The next day, 17-year-old Eric Sims, a black youth, was riding his bicycle when he was shot to death in the area. Authorities said the shootings were unrelated.
"We are here because three young men forfeited their lives to this madness Sunday night," said Lita Herron of the Youth Advocacy Coalition and the Cease Fire Committee, an anti-violence support group. "We come to find out this morning that a 17-year-old was killed last night. We've had enough, we've had more than enough."
Herron and civil rights leaders called on elected officials to start speaking out against the shootings and to create more evening youth programs. Herron also called on youths, who often are the perpetrators and victims of homicides, to help end gun violence.
"We need your help," she said. "You know who the shooters are among you. You know this element. It's time to shun it. It's time to shun the behavior that killed your friends. It's time to shun the behavior that killed your family members. It's time to shun the behavior that killed your classmates."
Shortly after the news conference, community leaders gave a final prayer. "Guns down," said Eddie Jones of the Los Angeles Civil Rights Assn. "We pray for the guns to be put down."
—Ruben Vives / Los Angeles Times
 It was Wednesday evening, July 23. It was getting cold and Shadonna Kinney had the chills.
She told her 8-year-old daughter, Jasmine Sanders, and her 3-year-old son, who were playing outside, to come inside the three bedroom apartment at 76th and San Pedro streets.
Seconds later, a shot rang out. Jasmine collapsed face down on the stairwell. Kinney ran down, pulled her daughter's arm, flipped her over and saw blood.
"Jasmine, fight baby, fight for your life," Kinney told her daughter as she cradled her. Kinney said Jasmine only took a gasp of air. She carried her upstairs, screaming to neighbors to call 911.
Inside Kinney continued to cradle her daughter. A neighbor told her to lay her flat and to apply pressure on the wound. Shortly after, paramedics took Jasmine to Harbor-UCLA Medical Center, where she was pronounced dead.
In Compton, over the phone, Jasmine's father was told of his daughter's death. "I dropped the phone, walked over to the couch and threw myself on it," said James Sanders, 27. "I screamed."
Photo: Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times
Read on »
On Thursday evening, family members, community activists, neighbors and police officials gathered outside the apartment complex where 8-year-old Jasmine Sanders, listed below, had been fatally shot a day before. Candles, flowers, balloons and stuffed animals were placed near the stairwell where Jasmine collapsed after she was shot. Ministers led a prayer, then the crowd raised candles and sang "In my neighborhood, I'm going to let it shine." Seconds into the song, Jasmine's mother, Shadonna Kinney, 28, above in white, broke down. "My baby, my baby," she said before screaming. She was escorted into a building across the apartment. "Give her some air," a bystander said.
Inside, she cried and screamed for about half an hour before going back outside. Police Capt. Gregory Allen of the Los Angeles Police Department's 77th Street Division, who was recently promoted by Police Chief William Bratton, told family members that the LAPD, the city and the community were going to come together to not only solve the crime but also make the neighborhood much safer.
At about 8 p.m. the crowd marched around the block, chanting "Stop the violence, increase the peace," and "Save our children." Residents peeked through half-open doors and through black window bars, dogs barked and children playing paused to watch the crowd pass.
ruben vives/LAT
On Wednesday afternoon, outside a liquor store in El Sereno, Los Angeles City Councilman Jose Huizar and Los Angeles Police Department officials announced a $50,000 reward for information leading to the capture of Jesus Guevara's killers.
LAPD Hollenbeck detectives said Guevara, 24, had just cashed his check at the liquor store, at 3327 N. Eastern Ave., and was about to enter his vehicle when he was shot twice in the back. Detectives said someone yelled something out and fired at Guevara.
"Let me remind you that the shooting happened in broad daylight," Huizar said. "Broad daylight and It happened on a busy street."
The liquor store sits between a meat market and a restaurant. "Please, we ask for your help," said Guevara's aunt, Maria Corona.
 At the conference Guevara, left, was described as a promising young man. He served four years on active duty in the U.S. Navy. In 2005 he assisted in the tsunami relief effort in Thailand. After leaving active duty, Guevara remained in the Navy reserves as a petty officer. Corona said he worked as a hydraulics engineer at Shultz Steel Co. in South Gate. Guevara's co-workers loved him, she said. Guevara was attending East Los Angeles College.
Shortly after the news conference, family members stood outside the store. Guevara's aunt and sister said he was always being encouraging. "He wanted everyone to do well," Corona said.
Anyone with information about the shooting is asked to call Hollenbeck Dets. Jake Dugger or Araceli Negrete at (323) 526-3091 or (877) 529-3855.
ruben vives / LAT
On Wednesday morning, outside the Los Angeles Police Department's Hollywood Division, homicide detectives and City Councilman Eric Garcetti announced a $50,000 reward for information leading to the arrests of Diego Cruz's killers. Above, Cruz's father, Martimiano Cruz, 38, speaks with reporters about his son.
According to authorities, 14-year-old Diego Cruz was on his way to a Sears store on Santa Monica Boulevard about 8 p.m. on Christmas Eve when he was shot. Cruz collapsed in front of the store.
"It's been difficult," his father said. "Sometimes I don't sleep much because I'm up thinking: How is it that this happened to my son?"
Anyone with information about the shooting is asked to call Hollywood detectives at (213) 972-2968.
 Jasmine Sanders, 8, a black child, was fatally shot in the chest at 249 E. 76th St. in South-Central Los Angeles about 8:45 p.m. Wednesday, July 23.
According to witnesses, Jasmine was playing outside with her little brother and other children behind an iron gate.
Witnesses told police that two black youths approached a group of male youths sitting on a porch behind a stairway. One of them, dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, fired a round at the group, but missed and struck Jasmine in the chest instead.
Witnesses said the force of the shot pushed Jasmine back against the stairs. Her mother came down and picked her up, then carried her upstairs into their apartment, where she and a neighbor applied pressure on her chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding, witnesses said.
Jasmine was taken by ambulance to Harbor-UCLA Medical Center, where she was pronounced dead.
Residents at the apartment building said the incident marked the fifth shooting in the l ast week. They pointed out bullets from recent shootings still lodged in the gate. Around the corner from the apartment is John C. Fremont High School and a block away is the Los Angeles Police Department's 77th Street Division.
The next morning, Jasmine's mother, Shadonna Kinney, 28, returned to the apartment building to pick up a few belongings. She addressed the shooters through news cameras that were stationed outside of the building.
"You senseless guys," she said. "Do the right thing; come forward, come forward, come forward."
Residents said the family had been living at the apartment for three weeks and that Jasmine had two brothers. Kinney said her daughter was enrolled at 75th Street Elementary School.
"She didn't deserve this," she said. "Somebody knows something."
Community activists have planned a vigil at the apartment building at 7 p.m. tonight.
ruben vives/ LAT
 Joshua Ford, 25, a black man, was sitting inside his parked car outside his home in Compton when he was shot multiple times.
Deputy Denise Fuchs of the L.A. County Sheriff's Headquarters said the shooting occurred shortly after 3:30 p.m. in the 1400 block of North Rose Avenue. She said a silver Mercedes-Benz pulled up next to Ford's car. A passenger in the Mercedes-Benz got out, walked over to Ford and shot him several times.
The gunman got back in the Mercedes, which was being driven by a black woman, and they sped off east on Peck Street. Ford was shot at least four times, according to his older brother.
A day after the shooting a long strip of police tape remained tied to a street sign. Yellow circles near shattered glass marked where bullet casings had landed in the street. Dried blood stained the dry grass where a red candle had been placed in memory of Ford . At the house, family members and friends stood in the backyard.
Ford's older brother, who did not give his name, said his brother was a middle child. Ford was a handyman and had no children, the older brother said. He said he did not know whether his younger brother had arrived or was about to leave for work.
Shortly after, the brother began asking where the mayor was. "Tell him to come here," he said. "Check on these murders, come talk to all the families here." Ford's older brother then wanted to know why so many of Compton's murders have gone unsolved. "You want to do your job," he told this reporter. "Report on that will you."
-ruben vives / LAT
Family, friends and community activists held a vigil for Bryan Moore at Campanella Park in Compton Sunday evening, June 29. Above, Criminal Investigator Paul Parker III speaks to the media at a news conference. A poster behind him reads "How much of this do we have to endure?"
Moore, listed below, was killed in a deputy-involved shooting Thursday, June 26. Milton Grimes, an attorney for Moore's family, said information from witnesses suggest that the use of force by the deputy was unjustified. Grimes said Moore was shot three or four times in the back.
Moore's girlfriend, Chanta Deeminter, 27, said she and Moore were returning to her home when she saw a sheriff's patrol car. Deeminter told Moore that she believed the patrol car was following her. Moore panicked. "He was breathing hard," Deeminter said. Moore then jumped out of the car and ran. A deputy chased him on foot, then shots were fired. Deeminter said she heard three shots. The L.A. County Sheriff's Department said in a statement that Moore was asked to show his hands. Instead, Moore looked, then turned toward the deputy. Fearing for his life, the deputy shot him, the statement said.
"This is an ongoing thing," said James Connor, a resident of Compton. "There's going to be more shootings like this now that summer is here," he said.
A dispute between family members interrupted the vigil. News cameras recorded the argument, which turned into a fight. "This is not news," a bystander said after he was asked about the fight.
At the end of the vigil everyone gathered in a prayer circle, while a sheriff's helicopter circled around the park.
It has been almost three months since Mohammad Usman Chaudhry, 21, was killed in an officer-involved shooting in Hollywood.
On Saturday, June 21, family, friends and community activists gathered at 1435 N. Curson Ave. to remember Chaudhry and others shot by police, as well as to empower local communities. Above, Chaudhry's family speaks out. "I am Usman's sister and I want justice for my brother," Chaudhry's sister wrote on a poster.
Chaudhry was fatally shot by a Hollywood Police officer early Tuesday, March 25.
A funeral service for Christopher Taylor, listed below, was held at Angelus Funeral Home in Jefferson Park Saturday afternoon, June 21. Taylor, 19, was fatally shot outside his home almost a week ago. After the service family and friends gathered at Taylor's home. His closest friends stood in his bedroom recalling their memories of Taylor. "He looked like a good kid and was a good kid," said Raven Holmes, 26. In honor of Taylor, twenty-year-old Tyrone Miller, above, had a barber shave the words "RIP Chris" on the back of his head. "He wanted you to live your life like it was your last [day] and do right," Miller told everyone in the room.
Christopher Taylor was raised in Lorain, Ohio. He attended Elyria High School, where he ran cross country and won several awards. "He could run, we seen him," said Jonathan Brown, 18. "We had water balloon fights and he could run. You couldn't catch him," Brown said. Friends described Taylor as a caring, honest and responsible young man. "He could have made a difference," Holmes said. "He was the type of guy that could."
 Alma Velasquez was at work when her son, Luis Albert Leon, 19, was fatally shot.
According to family, Leon was sitting on the curb outside a friend's house about 11 a.m. Friday, May 9. Authorities said a vehicle pulled up next to him. A Latino man got out of the vehicle and shot him.
Velasquez said a neighbor went to her work to tell her about the shooting. She said she went to the site, but police told her that her son had been taken by ambulance to California Hospital. 
At the hospital, doctors told Velasquez her son was in surgery. They explained to her that one of the bullets had penetrated his chest, his liver and left kidney.
By 5 p.m. Leon was out of surgery. Velasquez said she walked over to her son's bed and told him, "Mama esta aqui." (Mama is here.)
Leon was pronounced dead at 6:28 p.m. that Friday. He had a 2-year-old daughter.
 PHOTOS: Above, Leon and his daugther. To the right, Leon's sister, Natalie Ake, 16, who said her brother was taking her a stuffed teddy bear when he was shot. Left, Leon's blood stains on the teddy bear.
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Twenty-five year old Emitt Love Jr. knew struggle.
At the age of 8, Love's mother left. His father was in prison. Love's grandmother took him in.
A year later, his mother took him back, but it only lasted a few months. She left again, and Love was placed in a foster home. Then his father was released from prison and Love moved in with him at age 10.
Six years later, his father lost his job and house. Love moved in with his aunt in Bellflower. He attended Bellflower High School and ran track, said the father, Emitt Love Sr., interviewed by phone.
After high school, Love moved in with his older brother. A roomate skipped out on rent, and the brothers were evicted.
From then on, Love roamed from house to house. He wanted to be independent, the father said. Love worked for a year at CVS, the drug store chain. He was trying to make it as a hip-hop/rap artist, the father said. He had a rap group called Street Roamers with his two cousins and friend. His music moniker was "E-Nuff."
Love was at the bus stop on Century Boulevard near Vermont Avenue waiting for his girlfriend to pick him up late on June 1, according to Love's friend. Authorities said a black man approached and shot Love at about 10:45 p.m., then fled in a dark-colored vehicle south on Vermont Avenue.
Photo: On Monday afternoon Love's cousin and a friend, kneeling, made a short stop at the bus bench in Athens where Love had been sitting before he was shot to death.
 It has been almost 15 weeks since the death of Antwan Cole.
The 19-year-old young black man was shot several times at a bus stop in Athens Friday, Feb. 8. He was on his way home from work.
Family, friends and supporters gathered Monday morning at the same bus stop near Main and 135th streets to hold a peace event in his memory.
A representative from the office of L.A. County Supervisor Yvonne B. Burke announced a $10,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Cole's killers.
After the announcement, Cole's family and supporters walked house to house, urging residents to help disrupt the killing cycle by speaking out and cooperating with law enforcement. "Work with us, fight with us to change our community," a flyer distributed during the walk read. "It will take time and won't happen overnight, but we must start now."
"The community was very receptive," said Cole's stepmother, Elizabeth Taylor. "They want change too," she said.
Above: Antwan Cole's stepmother and young sister hugging.
 Hae Sook Roh, 51, a Korean woman, was fatally shot inside her store in the 2300 block of Rosecrans Avenue in Gardena on Monday evening.
A day after the shooting, the city of Gardena offered a $10,000 reward for the conviction of two robbers who shot Roh. Former customers drove to the store to confirm the news of her death.
Roh operated her store alone, and it was always open, former customers said. "I loved her," said Felita Hammond, 40, a former customer who drove to the store when she heard about the shooting. "I liked the way she did business."
According to the L.A. County Sheriff's Department, the suspects were described as black men in their 20s. The gunman was wearing a bandana, black jacket, white T-shirt and shorts. The second man was wearing a blue shirt and blue jeans. Both suspects were last seen running westbound on Rosecrans. A surveillance video shows the gunman storming into the store, pointing a gun at Roh, and shooting her once. As he tried to open the cash register he shot Roh twice more.
A neighboring shop owner said she heard three gunshots. She walked to Roh's store and found her lying behind the counter. The woman said she ran back to her store and dialed 911.
Latex gloves from paramedics were left behind just ouside the store. Near the front entrance were boxes scattered on the floor, and a few feet away dry bloodstains.
A friend of the family said Roh lived in Harbor City. She emigrated from Korea with her husband and two children. Roh had owned her store, Shirt 6 for $10, for five years and had been robbed before, the friend said.
Former customers said Roh always greeted them with a smile. "She was a wonderful person for our community," said Janet Wilson, 51, a former customer who dropped off a vase of flowers in front of the store. Hammond said she wasn't surprised to hear about the robbery. "But to kill her," she said, "I can't stomach that."
See L.A. Times story
It has been a week since the fatal shooting of 25-year-old Roberto Perez .
The Latino man was shot to death at the intersection of 41st Street and South Vermont Avenue across from Manual Arts High School in Exposition Park about 7:45 p.m. Friday, May 2. Family members said Perez was the second-oldest of four children.
He was from Mexico and had a 3-year-old son. He had dropped out of high school to work full time as a carpenter so he could help the family with rent and bills. He was also supporting his son. Neighbors told the family that their son was well-mannered and that many of the area children admired Perez. "He was a big kid," his sister, Blanca Perez, 16, said.
"I lost my only brother," said older brother Agustin Perez,  27, looking at the hardwood floor.
According to Det. Frank Alvelais of LAPD's South Bureau Homicide, Perez was walking to the store when a vehicle pulled up. Someone got out and shot him several times.
Family said he and his older brother had been visiting their cousin, who owns a carpet store a few blocks from the killing. They said Perez was on his way to buy beer when he was shot twice in the back and once in the head. A youth ran to the store and told Agustin what had happened. Agustin said he ran to the corner and found his brother lying on the sidewalk, already dead.
"I took off my white shirt and covered him up so no one would see him," he said. Agustin then ran to his parents' house around the corner.
 Blanca, the youngest sister, said she was returning from a college campus field trip when she learned her brother had been shot. She saw the police and yellow tape, but thought it was for a car accident. Agustin told her that their brother had been shot. She ran to the corner. "I couldn't breath," she said playing with her golden chain. "I couldn't believe it."
Family members are seeking donations for funeral services.
From top to bottom: A picture of Perez. A memorial shrine in the living room table. Family members have placed a slice of pizza aside for Perez. To the left, a second memorial shrine located just a street away.
Melvin Espinoza, 26, a Latino man, was fatally shot at the front door of his apartment in Lynwood about 1:30 a.m., August 27, 2005.
He and his girlfriend were awakened by a neighbor knocking at their front door. The neighbor said her boyfriend was arguing with four men who had been stealing fire extinguishers in the building. She asked Espinoza if he could intervene, Espinoza's sister, Jackie, said.
"He was never afraid to help you," she said.
He confronted the four men. "He told them to leave, and I guess they felt they were being disrespected," his sister said.
Espinoza and his girlfriend were returning to their apartment when two of the four men approached them. Espinoza said her brother pushed his girlfriend inside the apartment, closed the door and was shot in the face by one of the two men. He collapsed by the door and died, she said.
Four months after the shooting two of the four men were identified and arrested. The men were Latino gang members. Jackie Espinoza said her brother's girlfriend and the neighbor testified against the two men. The gunman was convicted of murder, she said. The other man was acquitted and released. Fearing retaliation, Espinoza's girlfriend moved to her grandmother's house in Riverside. Their neighbors also moved out of the area.
Jackie Espinoza, 31, said her brother had a big heart. He was 6 feet 1 and weighed about 200 pounds. She said he was the kind of man who would pull over if your car was broken down at the side of the road. He would offer you a ride as long as you gave him gas money. He never gave homeless people money but bought them food instead.
Her brother wanted to finish school to become a phlebotomist, a person who draws blood. He was a medical assistant and was taking care of their diabetic mother, who required insulin shots. She said her brother oversaw their mother's medications and doctor appointments.
She said her brother had a 1996 green Ford Explorer SUV that he loved. "He only used it for special occasions," she said. The SUV had neon lights, rims, a sound system and a Flowmaster exhaust system. "You could always hear him coming around the corner of our house," she said. "He loved loud noises."
According to Jackie, her 26-year-old sister now drives the SUV. "He had left something for all of us, should anything happen to him," she said. "He wanted her to keep the truck."
 Shortly after 3 p.m. on Wednesday, April 23, family members of Hernan Cardona, 60, walked into the conference room of the LAPD's Wilshire Division and sat on hard cushion chairs. They listened to Police Capt. Evangelyn Nathan as she recounted the events of the night their father was killed outside an Auto Zone at 1905 S. Western Ave. in Arlington Heights on Friday, April 18.
"Two men ambushed Mr. Cardona," Nathan said. "They pulled out pistols and fired." Cardona fired back, she said. Cardona, below left, was hit multiple times as he went to the aide of a wounded bystander. According to detectives, the bystander who was wounded fled after the shooting.
 "We'd like for him to come forward," said Det. Kurt Wong. "We need to speak with him to see if he has information that will help us identify and convict the suspects." Authorities said there was still no motive for the shooting. Descriptions of the two suspects were also released at the conference. Nathan said the first suspect was a black man, thin and between the ages of 18 and 25. He was wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, basketball shorts and blue sneakers. "We have a composite sketch on that suspect," Nathan said. The second suspect was a black man, thin and between the ages of 18 and 25. She said he was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and dark pants.
Authorities are also looking for a third suspect, who was believed to be the driver of a dark-colored SUV that was waiting around the corner from the store.
Cardona's wife, Martha Ramirez, 55, and his oldest son, Wilfredo, 34, kept their heads down throughout the conference, occasionally looking at Nathan as she spoke.
 City Councilman Herb Wesson announced a $50,000 reward approved by the L.A. City Council for information leading to the identification and capture of the two gunmen. He said St. Moritz Security Services Inc., the firm where Cardona worked, has offered $5,000, bringing the total reward to $55,000. "We have a moral responsibility to catch these guys," Wesson said. "The city owes this man because he risked his life."
Wilfredo Cardona pleaded with the public. "I just wanted to tell anyone, any witnesses, we have to stop these guys," he said. "If we don't stop them tomorrow, it could be you." At the end of the conference, Wilfredo hugged the councilman. "We're going to catch them," Wesson whispered. Wilfredo then broke down. He was escorted out as investigators showed two short clips of a surveillance video. Wilfredo's 3-year-old daughter ran after her father. "Papi, papi" she yelled. A relative tried holding her back, but she screamed, broke lose and ran to her dad.
 Outside of LAPD's Harbor Division on Thursday, March 27, family members of Daniel Arviso, 19, sought the public's help in identifying the killer or killers responsible for the young man's death last Oct. 13.
Councilwoman Janice Hahn announced a $50,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of Arviso's killers. "Someone out there saw, heard, knows something," she said speaking at the conference.
According to authorities, Arviso had left his job, supervising truck inspections at the harbor, and was on his way to a birthday party near 1440 Blinn Ave. in Wilmington when he was shot in the head. Arviso's cousin, Angela Lopez, 22, said she ran out when she heard the gunshot because she wanted to check on the children who were playing outside.
Lopez said she noticed the body of a man on a street corner and walked over to it. Lopez is attending medical school and wanted to help. When she flipped the body over, she could only see blood on the man's face. She said his eye was almost sticking out. She pulled out the man's wallet and it was then that she discovered he was her cousin. Lopez said she held his head until paramedics arrived. "He pushed his legs," said Lopez. "He was trying to get up." Arviso was taken by ambulance to UCLA-Harbor General Hospital, where he was pronounced dead.
"Daniel was a great person, nephew, a grandson, and a father," said Arviso's aunt, Donna Arviso. Daniel had a 3-year-old daughter, Kayla Arviso, and had been putting in extra hours at work so he could save up for Christmas shopping. His aunt said he was planning on buying his daughter a Dora the Explorer toy jeep for Christmas; the family said they used his last paycheck to buy the jeep and give it to her on Christmas Day. That week, according to the aunt, Kayla walked to her father's grave and said, 'Thank you daddy for the jeep.' Family described Daniel as the type of person who felt frustrated when he couldn't help others, but happiest when he could.
"We are pleading with everyone," Donna said. "Please, if you have seen or heard anything, please help us get justice for our nephew and make our streets safer for our children."
Anyone with information about the incident is asked to call Dets. J. Rodriguez or F. Weber of the Harbor detective division, homicide unit at (310) 522-2036.
Read on »
 On Friday, Feb. 8, Antwan Cole lay mortally wounded near a bus stop in Athens. He had been shot multiple times in a drive-by shooting. A person living across the street heard the gunfire and dialed 911. Paramedics listed the 19-year-old as "Antwan Doe" and transported him to UCLA-Harbor Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead at 12:24 a.m. Feb. 9. He was listed as an "unknown black male" by the Los Angeles County coroner.
Cole lived with his grandmother. According to a coroner's report, an unspecified "law enforcement agency" notified her of his death within a few hours. But Everlean Cole, 67, said she never got that notification. It wasn't until two days later that she learned from a relative that her grandson was killed. The relative had been told by a neighbor, who called the coroner's office.
Now the family wants officials to improve the way they notify loved ones.
On March 18, family members held a news conference with civil-rights leaders to urge the L.A. Police Commission to address the issue. They say the coroner acted too slowly, that police never contacted them with news of Cole's death, and that agencies need to communicate better.
"Murder, violence, is harsh enough, is painful enough." said activist Earl Ofari Hutchinson, speaking at the family's news conference outside Parker Center. "The tragedy is even worse when next of kin, family members don't know what happened. When there's no notification."
Coroner officials acknowledged their handling of the case was slow but also said that Cole was difficult to identify because their investigators had none of his clothing or personal effects. He also had never been arrested. They said situations are rare and that his case does not indicate a wider problem. Sheriff's detectives who are investigating Cole's death said they left the notification to the coroner.
Antwan Cole was attending L.A. Trade Tech College. Family members said that on the Monday after Cole's death, they waited at the college and at a Unocal facility where he worked as a security guard to see if he would show up. When he didn't, Cole's grandmother filed a missing-person's report. Everlean Cole's neighbor, Gwen Williams, 53, later called the coroner, who told her of the killing. Williams in turn informed the family.
Family members said they drove to the coroner's office to identify the body on Monday but were told it already had been identified through fingerprints. They were referred to detectives investigating the case.
According to a time line of events issued by the coroner's office, Antwan's body was transported to the Forensic Science Center for fingerprinting on Sunday. His name was not listed in any of the local criminal databases or in the FBI's database. Many, if not most, homicide victims have criminal records, which contain fingerprints that aid in identifying them. Cole "was about doing the right thing and being a good kid," said his aunt Demetra Willis.
The state Department of Justice did identify Cole later on Sunday, but not through a criminal record. He had been fingerprinted for his security guard identification card, said Craig Harvey, the department's chief investigator and chief of operations. "Had he worked at McDonald's, we would have been back to square one," Harvey said.
Andrea Cole, 21, one of Antwan's sisters, said she could not understand why notification was such a problem. "He had a cellphone, his school badge, his security guard badge," she said. "What's the point of having emergency numbers in a cellphone if they're not going to be used?"
The coroner's office did not receive the cellphone with Antwan Cole's body, Harvey said. He said that if he had known that there had been a problem notifying the grandmother, he would have had the law enforcement agency try to reach Cole's mother. The coroner is legally responsible for notification, he said, but law enforcement agencies often make that first contact with family because it allows them to begin their investigation right away. 
Anthony Hernandez, director of the coroner's office, said the office was looking into the case and "back-tracking to try and clarify who specifically made the notification."
The family and friends say blame is not the point.
"We just want unity in all the agencies," said Williams, Everlean Cole's neighbor.
Above, Eddie Jones, president of the L.A. Civil Rights Assn. speaks with Cole's family and friends at the news conference. Below, Demetra Willis and Everlean Cole praying.
Antwan Cole, 19, "loved people," said his grandmother, Everlean Cole.
The grandmother, 67, recalled the day he tried to assist a homeless woman on his way home. The woman was struggling with a shopping cart, and her grandson tried to help. But the woman refused and nearly hit him, Everlean said. Two police officers pulled over to investigate. He told them he was just trying to help. "I said, 'Baby, sometimes you just can't help some strangers," Everlean Cole said. She said Antwan's response was: "'I know. But, Granny, she was struggling so hard.'"
Antwan Cole was shot at about 11 p.m. on Friday, Feb 8. He had just finished his shift as a security guard at the Unocal 76 facility off Broadway and 135th in Athens, and was waiting at a bus stop nearby. He had been taking the bus since losing his driver's license due to parking tickets, his grandmother said. As he waited, he chatted on his cellphone with his 18-year-old cousin. He told his cousin a car had passed him and was turning around. The call ended shortly after.
Paramedics transported Antwan to a local hospital, where he later died a few minutes after midnight.
Antwan was one of five children. His grandmother took custody of him when he was  6 years old. He had graduated from Westchester Senior High School, where he played football until he ruptured his rotator cuff. He was enrolled in English at L.A. Trade Tech and wanted to become a sports commentator, his grandmother said.
He loved sports, she said. "He could tell you everything from high school, to college, to professionals; all of it," she said. He was a loyal Lakers fan. Everlean Cole recalled telling him she thought Kobe Bryant hogged the ball too much. Antwan wouldn't hear anything against him. "You've got to give Kobe time, Granny; he's just a good player," her grandson would say. He tried to get his cousin, Trevalle Cole, 12, into playing football. He and Trevalle would do push-ups, sit-ups, and lift weights together. Friends said he liked to debate a range of topics. " I'll miss our debates," a friend wrote on his memorial poster.
A few years ago, Antwan Cole had been shot at, but survived, his grandmother said. He and a friend had stopped at Burger King on their way to work. Inside the restaurant a group of young men kept staring at them. At the intersection of 108th Street and Western Avenue, nearby, the same group of men pulled up next to them and began shooting, she said. Cole gunned his car, pulled over, and ran with his friend. Neither of them were hit.
At a vigil at the bus stop on Tuesday, Feb. 12, a woman from across the street walked over to offer condolences. She told Everlean Cole she had been there the night of the shooting. Antwan had kept saying,"oh no, not again," she said.
At his funeral, people packed the Simpson's Family Mortuary in Inglewood. Several stood behind the  white double doors, a few peeked through a diamond glass panel to get a glimpse of the service inside. Those who couldn't get in waited on the steps of the church. As people lined up to view Cole's body, several broke down. Others waited until they got outside and screamed. A few struggled to breathe from crying as they walked down the stairs of the church and into the parking lot.
"They destroyed a beautiful life," Everlean said. Her grandson, she said, "was going places."
A bonfire was held at Dockweiler beach Saturday, Feb. 16, to celebrate Cole's 20th Birthday. Family and classmates from Westchester and L.A. Trade Tech attended the event.
--Ruben Vives/LAT
Top to bottom: Antwan Cole. Trevalle's memory of Antwan. Coles memorial shrine. More farewells.
Melinda Llanos was holding her brother's head as he died. When deputies tried to pull her off his body, she fought them, screaming and cursing. They nearly handcuffed her.
Juan "Coco" Llanos, 31, had been standing outside with his older brother and cousin on Friday, Feb. 8, when gunfire erupted and he was mortally wounded. Melinda, 36, and two other sisters had rushed to Juan's side just in time to see him draw a few deep breaths. Melinda had to be escorted away by deputies. Afterward, the brother only remembered the gunfire and the round brake lights of the dark car as it sped northbound on San Pedro Street. Juan was taken by paramedics to UCLA Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead. When Melinda and other family members arrived at the hospital, they were directed to the chapel, where they were told Juan had died. The bullet punctured his heart and lung.
Melinda and Juan's other siblings recalled the episode in the front yard of the family's home last week, just two weeks after Juan's death. The small front yard was surrounded by a black gate. At the edge of the driveway was a memorial shrine, one of four located throughout the house. A second shrine was on the porch. It was a USC sign made out of flowers by his twin brother Robert. Juan was a USC football fan and Robert was a UCLA fan. "They use to go at it," said younger sister Yesenia Llanos, 27.
They said Juan was one of 10 siblings. He had always been the opposite of his fraternal twin brother, they said. Robert was born with hair and Juan was born bald. As a result, his father called him Coco -- "Coconut" The nickname stuck. Many of Juan's friends never learned his real name. Growing up, Robert was the shy one and Juan was the wild one, his family said. Juan loved to moon people, they said. An older sister, Irene Gallardo, 42, recalled the time their mother pulled into the driveway and Juan, anticipating her arrival, pressed his buttocks against the window of the house.
 Juan worked at the Appliance Recycling Center of America Inc. in Compton for about a year. He handled hazardous material from refrigerators. He had two daughters: 5-year-old Natalie by a previous girlfriend and 9-month-old Melody by Wendy Carillo, 19, who is three months pregnant. Juan had been happy at the news of her pregnancy, Carillo said. His sisters said he wanted a boy. Carillo plans to name the baby after him.
 "Nobody deserves to die like that, nobody," said Irene Gallardo, the older sister. "All of our kids were here.... I just wonder, how do you sleep at night knowing that you've taken a person's life like that?"
--Ruben Vives/LAT
From top to bottom: Yesenia holds a picture of her brother. Melinda's tattoo reads: R.I.P My Brother. Yesenia's tattoo. The family dining room table is now a memorial shrine.
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(HR has been returning every month to interview Barbara Pritchett and her family since June, when Pritchett's 15-year-old son Dovon Harris was murdered in the Nickerson Gardens housing project in Watts. Above, Pritchett and daughter Dwaina at Dovon's gravesite Friday.--Brian VanderBrug/LAT)
On Thursday, Pritchett passed out in a hallway of the Compton courthouse.
It was during proceedings for the defendants in Dovon's murder case. She was sitting near the front of the courtroom, she said. A witness was describing the last moments of Dovon's life: How he stepped off a bus, and started to walk. How the gun went off. How the witness looked back and saw Dovon lying on the ground...
Pritchett felt a burning in her chest. She was out of the courtroom as fast as she could walk, seeking refuge in the hallway. Her daughter Dwaina, 18, and Duane Harris, Dovon's father, followed her. Pritchett had moved near a window.
Dwaina joined her, watching as her mother took heaving breaths. Pritchett was hyperventilating. Suddenly, she slumped. Harris caught her, and eased her onto the floor. Court staff called paramedics. Nothing medically wrong, they said later. Just stress.
Read on »
 Brian Ramos lived in a Koreatown apartment so tiny that a single room, with a few chairs and double beds crammed end-to-side, served as living room and bedroom for him, his father, disabled mother and elderly grandmother.
Like so many L.A. neighborhoods, there's not nearly enough parking, and city transportation department officers ticket with a ferocious vigilance.
That's why Brian was outside Tuesday night. He was moving the family's cars around, trying to get them situated so they wouldn't get ticketed, said Det. John Shafia of LAPD Wilshire Division. A man or youth walked up to him, said "Where are you from?" and started shooting before Brian could answer. He fell immediately. He died at County-USC.
The parents spoke about 30 hours after Brian was shot and killed in front of the apartment building. Neither had slept or eaten. Brian's mother broke down in sobs every 30 seconds or so. They weren't sure they would be able to handle an interview, but tried anyway.
Brian was their only son. They are proud of how clean-cut he was. They keep returning to the subject. Ana Perez grew animated when she described how, after his death, police searched for some sign that Brian had gang or drug ties. They searched the house, talked to his friends, canvassed the neighborhood. They couldn't find a thing.
He didn't have a tattoo, not even an earring. He had never been arrested, never joined a gang, never had problems in school, his parents said, and police agreed. He was working full-time as a delivery driver for Coca Cola, contributing to the upkeep of his small family. He was considering studying to be a medical assistant. Or maybe a mechanic. He liked mechanical things, his father said. "Buen hijo," says his mother, over and over. Good son.
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Shafia said Brian--a 21-year-old Latino male killed by a gang member--might not stand out as a victim. Not a soldier, honor student or university grad. Yet he was exceptional, Shafia said.
 The apartment was so small and crowded he would have had to be outside a lot. He probably had to mingle with gang members every day of his life. Yet somehow he managed never to be involved. "You grow up in that neighborhood and you find your way not to be a gang member?" Shafia said, shaking his head in amazement. "I guess it must be the parents."
Detectives seek information, anonymous tips, rumors, anything. A reward is pending. Shafia and his partner are at (213) 473-0446.
Piden informacion sobre este homicidio. Llame (213) 473-0446.
Of all Americans, black men have the most to fear from violent crime. Even Latino men, who suffer their own high homicide rates, are much less likely than black men to be murdered.
Older black men, like 50-year-old Charles Malone, interviewed here, are at serious risk--a neglected high-risk group. While advocacy efforts tend to focus on young people, more black men aged 40 to 50 were hospitalized for assault-related injuries than black youths 18 and under, according to 2001-2006 data from the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control. In 2004, black men 45 to 54 in Los Angeles County were nearly five times more likely to be murdered than Latino men in the same age group, and 14 times more likely than white men.*
Name: Charles Malone, 50
Occupation: None, since he was disabled in a shooting in 1996. At various times before that, he has been a juvenile delinquent, a Southwest College student, a school-district worker, a detention officer for the department of probation and an instructor at a local gym. He has also spent time incarcerated--for grand theft when he was 40.
Residence: Walnut, formerly of Watts, where he was interviewed.
Chance he will be murdered in a given year*: 4.8 in 10,000.
Chance a Latino man will be: 1 in 10,000
Chance a white man will be: 1/3 in 10,000
HR: How did you get the scar?
Malone: I was standing at a bus stop at Crenshaw and Hyde Park. I was coming home from work, still wearing my gym uniform -- a shirt and shorts. It was summer twilight. I was looking up the street for the bus, and had my back turned.
That's when I heard really loud pops behind me. Really, really loud, like a few feet away. I ran about 10 feet, and then I felt something trickle down my buttock. I reached back. It was blood. I just stopped. Someone was yelling at me to sit down, so I sat.
The paramedics came and ripped my clothes off me and took me to King-Drew. I had been shot five times. Three times in the stomach, twice in the buttock. The last thing I remember was going into surgery. King-Drew hospital saved my life.
HR: What was your recovery like?
Malone: I remember waking up three days later on a machine. I was in the hospital for two weeks and it took me four months to recover. I had to be wheeled around on a gurney. My mom and sister had to do all that. I had a colostomy bag for three months.
Read on »
A reader asks an interesting question about the possible interplay between unemployment and homicide in response to Wednesday's note about declining homicide rates in L.A. County.
Below is a rough chart comparing the number of homicides in Los Angeles County, as reported by the coroner, and the countywide unemployment rate, as reported by the California State Economic Development Department.
Roughly, homicides were higher when the jobless picture was somewhat dimmer. Those who remember the early 1990s in L.A.--back when home prices dived and the aerospace job base collapsed--may also remember the epic homicide spike in those years. More recently, the region has seen tight labor markets and, up until recently, booming real estate. This has coincided with fewer homicides. *The 2007 numbers are estimated projections. For the values on this chart, hit "read on" below.
(chart by Times assistant graphics editor Thomas Suh Lauder)
Read on »
Vanisha Stevens is 11 years old with a wavy brown ponytail and wire-rim glasses.
She likes to dance in her socks, keeps a secret diary, and wants to be a pediatrician.
On Sept. 5, her mother, Michelle Moore, opened the front door, and saw a business card flutter onto the carpet.
Vanisha was at school. Moore reached down and picked the card up. On one side was the name of a homicide detective. On the other was a scrawled message: "Urgent. Please call."
 Herbert Stevens, Vanisha's father, had been fatally shot at 1756 W. 39th Street by an unknown gunman. He and Moore were separated. But Stevens still saw Vanisha nearly every day, playing tag with her in the house or taking her to the mall. Moore hung up the phone, and thought, "How will I tell her?"
She decided to let Vanisha finish school. Afterward, Moore took Vanisha to her grandmother's house, hoping to get her daughter into a supportive setting before breaking the news.
But Vanisha was too old to fall for that. She walked into her grandmother's house, and, before anyone else could speak, said: "OK. Who died?"
Read on »
Of all Americans, black men have the most to fear from violent crime. Even Latino men, who suffer high homicide rates, are much less likely than black men to be murdered. According to the just-released national FBI crime report for 2006, 42% of homicide victims last year were male blacks. Below, one in HR's occasional series on black men as crime victims. The young man featured is 18--the number one age for homicide victims in L.A. County through August, 2007.
Name: Terry Seymore
Age: 18
Occupation: High-school student, Fremont High (bound for Morehouse College next year)
Residence: LAPD 77th St. Division--west of the 110 Freeway
Chances that he will murdered in a given year*: 15.2 in 10,000 (based on his age, race and gender)
Chance that a Latino man his age will be: 4.9 in 10,000
Chance that a white man his age will be: 1.4 in 10,000
Q. Do you have to be careful?
A. Basically you have to watch out wherever you go.... Don't say the wrong thing to the wrong person. I watch my back all the time.
Q. Has anyone close to you been the victim of a crime?
A. I lost my homeboy Jesse in middle school. He was about 13. He died on his front porch--in his mother's arms... My cousin got shot too, but he didn't die. He was 22. The bullet went through his shoulder and pierced his kidney...I also knew another guy from middle school who got killed. He got shot up in a car for no reason. But I didn't know him well. And I saw someone get shot right here, on this block. They killed him. I saw the gun come out, and 'bang!' They did it right in front of his kids.
Q. Have you ever been the victim of a crime?
A. No. I've been banged on a couple times, but I just tell them, 'I don't bang."
Q. Tell me about one time.
A. I was 11 years old. I was walking down the street, and I was wearing blue Chuck Taylors, and this is a Blood neighborhood. These two guys stopped me. They were about 18. They asked me where I was from. I said, "I don't bang. I'm 11 years old!"
Q. Where you ever pressured to join a gang?
A. Heck no! I'm too scared to do it! I mean, I'm not a wuss or anything. But that will just get you in jail or dead. And I'm scared of that.... And my mother, she always put pressure on me. If I lie to her, she gets on me.
Q. Are you ever afraid?
A. I'm more afraid of police brutality. I had a gun held to my head by a cop.
Q. What happened?
A. I was about 13 years old. I was going to the store to get minutes for my phone, and I was running. I thought I heard shouting. Then I heard someone yell, "stop!" real loud and I saw a car door open in front of me. This cop with a gun got out. I guess a house just got robbed by here, and I matched the description of the suspect.
They ordered me down. I was lying on the sidewalk on my back. I didn't know I was supposed to lie on my stomach--I didn't know how to do it! The gun was right up to my head. I was scared. I saw my life flash before my eyes. My mom came out on the street. She was really angry. I think she called the NAACP. They let me up. I started to cry a little. They didn't apologize. They didn't say nothing...Basically, after that, I was like, 'Forget the cops. They can't do nothing for me.'
Q. Does your mother worry?
A. She makes me let her know whenever I'm going outside. She wants me to be safe and alive. She tells me to pray before I go somewhere. And I always do.
See also: "They asked me where I was from, as usual" and "I had a bad feeling"
* The homicide risk calculations above are based on homicide figures from the Los Angeles County Health Department in the year 2004. The figure for Seymore's risk is derived from homicide death rates for black males ages 15 to 19.
 Friday was the funeral for Bryan J.D. Hollis, 23, at Bethel Baptist in Watts.
Hollis died Aug. 28 after he was shot in the Nickerson Gardens housing project.
Babies cried and squirmed as the burgandy-upholstered pews filled for his service. Some of the mourners wore T-shirts with Hollis' picture.
 Simpson's mortuary staff passed out programs. On an inside page was a tribute from his mother, Eunice Blackwell:
"My son, my son," she had written. "I don't know how to say what I'm feeling right now.... I will miss you so very much."
The tribute underneath was from his sister: "This is like unreal," her entry read. "Just him lying there, all the blood he lost and nobody to help him."
For most of the service, his mother sat silent, gripping a fan on stick, taking deep breaths, now and then lifting her dark sunglasses to dab her eyes. Two young women sang without accompaniment. A third walked up to microphone, tried to speak, then shook her head and sat down with a sob.
James Smith, a Watts youth worker, rose to describe how Hollis recently came to him "ready to change his life, to give up bad things and do the right thing for his family," Smith said. Another mourner remembered how he made people laugh. "He will be a comic in heaven," she said.
A family friend addressed the young men in the pews. A few cried discreetly. Others slumped, staring into space with clenched jaws. "You guys need to sit down and think about what you are doing to each other," she said.
 Pastor Reginald Pope then led the mourners in prayer. As the services ended, a cousin, Venita Hebert, dressed in black and white, suddenly darted up to the podium.
"I'm out of the program," she admitted, leaning into the microphone. "But I want to say something."
She took a breath, then began to speak:
"If you can do anything in your power to prevent another black man from dying, you need to do it," she said, her voice rising. "I'm angry!"
As she spoke, a young man Hollis' age leaned forward, and buried his face in his arms.
The mourners filed up to view the open casket. A woman sobbed. A young man looked at Hollis' body, then threw his program down and crumpled to the floor, crouching with his head in his hands.
At last, a mortuary man prepared to close the casket. But Eunice Blackwell stepped in front of him.
 She took the thick white cloth from his hands, and covered her son's body herself.
First she pulled the thick cloth up to his chin.
Then, with small motions, she tucked the cloth around his head, straightened his pillow, and smoothed the folds of the cover.
When she was done, for a brief instant, she let her hands rest lightly atop the white cloth.
Then, with a slight nod, she stepped back and turned away.
Black men are America's most likely crime victims. Even Latino men, who suffer high homicide rates, are much less likely than black men to be murdered. A black man is safer in prison today than living free in Los Angeles County.
HR is doing an occasional series of Q&A's on black men as crime victims. This the most recent installment:
 Name: Rodney Dennis
Age: 31
Occupation: Registered medical assistant. Also Army Reserve.
Residence: Mid-City. Grew up in Baldwin Village.
Chance that he will be murdered in a given year*: 15.9 in 10,000 (based on his age, race and gender).
Chance a Latino man his age will be: 2.1 in 10,000.
Chance a white man his age will be: 0.6 in 10,000.
Q. How many people close to you have been victims of crime?
A. My brother was carjacked at gunpoint. My cousin's car was shot up. My father was shot six times when he was 57 years old in a robbery in Houston.
It was about eight years ago. He ran a soul food restaurant near the airport, and the suspects came to rob the restaurant. They were white. One of the shots hit my father in the head. He died five years later of a massive stroke. I think it was related to being shot. Before he was shot, he had no problems like that. But his body never recovered. He was never the same. Then he died. They were never caught.
Q. How many times have you been a victim of violence?
A. Twice.
Q. Can you describe your experiences?
A. The first time, I was about 15. I was at a bus stop on Imperial near Southwest College, where I was in a program to earn college credit during high school. Two black guys came up, 14 or 15 years old, a little younger than me I think. They asked me where I was from, as usual. I said, "Nowhere." I was wearing my dad's class ring. One of them pulled up his shirt and showed me two guns in his waistband. He said, "Give me the ring, or I'll shoot you."
I gave them all my money, and the ring. They took my watch, my backpack, and threw my school books in the street. I tried to run, and as I was running, I was hit in the leg. The bullet went into my thigh and out the other side. I didn't even know I was hit. I ran almost a mile before I knew. A lady saw the blood. It had dripped on the sidewalk. She took me to a hospital. One of the guys was murdered two days later during another robbery attempt. They arrested the other.
The second time was about four years later here in Baldwin Village. I was walking in an alley, and a guy and a girl jumped out of a car. He was black, she was Hispanic. They thought I was a Blood. They said, "F- Bloods!" and jumped on me.
I was fighting the guy, and then I felt something hit my back. When I turned around to see, I suddenly felt dizzy and I fell. They drove away. I still didn't know what had hit me until I reached back and grabbed the handle. It was an icepick, stuck in my back.
I tried to pull it out--it was just instinct. But a lady stopped me and took me to the hospital. It was a real sharp pain, much worse than being shot. At the hospital, they took an x-ray to see if they could pull it out. It was less than an inch from my lung. They pulled it out. It hurt so much.
Q. Are you afraid?
A. I watch my back everywhere I go. We joke about it in my family--that if you make it to 30, you have hit a milestone. I have three kids, two boys and a girl. I am worried every day. My fiancee and I, we are looking at moving. We are looking at Rialto. Maybe Texas.
Q. What would it take to make you safe?
A. I really could not answer that question. I think about it every day. But sad to say, I think there is no way to make us safer. We just have to watch our backs all the time. I think maybe, though, if we cared more about the U.S. instead of caring about other countries, we might solve it.
Q. What do you think about the police?
A. We need more police. They stop me all the time. I wouldn't hurt a fly. But because of the way I look, my size, my tattoos, they think so.... But I can deal with being harassed by police every day because I know if I am being harassed, then maybe they are stopping something else from happening. So I don't care of they pull me over 100 times a day.
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Community leaders held a news conference Tuesday, Aug. 11, at Imperial Highway and Western Avenue in response to a spate of shootings in the Athens-Westmont area.
