By GUEST COMMENTARY BY HANK ROSENFELD
Vanity Fair has a story in its February issue called “Nightmare on Sunset,” about how “the sylvan enclaves of Bel Air, Brentwood, Pacific Palisades and Beverly Hills” have been experiencing a surge in crime. When the reporter asked why nobody seemed to be talking about it, one of the residents said, “Real estate values.” It reminded me of a story in my neighborhood that never got covered.
When Joe Pipersky opened his diner on Main Street in 1987, Amador Garcia Rodriguez was there on Aug. 3, a day before the opening. He’s still there. Not only chef Amador, but members of his family have come up from the state of Jalisco in Western Mexico to work at both Joe’s and Holy Guacamole across the street. Seven people can live in a $400 per month apartment, sleeping in different shifts, sending paychecks south. They mostly stay home at night with the TV and maybe a Gameboy.
Sylvestre Garcia Rodriguez, one of Amador’s nephews, washed dishes at the diner. Pipersky had recently given him a raise across the street at Holy Guacamole. On the same night of that infamous pro basketball brawl in Detroit, at the cold, dark end of November, Sylvestre was murdered on Rose Avenue. I never read anything about it. The 22-year-old had worked at Joe’s for a year. His brother Rogelio worked there, too. They sent money from Santa Monica to their parents and eight brothers and sisters in Mexticacan, a town of 30,000 people. Uncle Amador said there is no industry except for the two-month corn harvest. Rogelio and Sylvestre saved $10,000 to send. Now, Sylvestre’s younger brother plans to come up from Jalisco to work at the diner.
“It’s such a huge human tragedy,” Joe Pipersky said. “The family sends sons with hopes and aspirations to come up here and see them dashed.”
“He was a sweet kid,” said Megan Underhill, a waitress at Joe’s, where Merry Murray, Heidi Jackson, Eddie Levenson, Sevrian Lopez, Luis Contreras and the rest of the diner family were shattered by the death.
“He smiled all the time,” Underhill said of the young man with the slim face and physique.
It cost $7,000 to send the body back to Jalisco with Roqelio.
“It’s more expensive to die than to be born,” Amador said.
They took up a collection at the diner. Of the generous response, Pipersky said, “It came from the heart.”
On Nov. 28, the boy was laid to rest. Amador and fellow cook Pascual described what happened: Sylvestre was near his home on Rose and Sixth, near the Venice Free Clinic, standing in a parking space on that Friday night. Sylvestre was not in a gang, but he was murdered right there by a gang member who came along. Channel 11 gave the story its only coverage. Mistaken identity was cited. I thought maybe it wasn’t reported because of the condo development on the corner of Rose and Sixth. Or because Sylvestre wasn’t white, or his life not somehow as important as that of a sea lion or beached squid.
I know it’s been more than two months. But in these days of worldwide overwhelming loss and giving to causes beyond our comprehension, I’ve been thinking about this kid.
“He was nothing but friendly,” said Chris, who shared beers with Sylvestre at Joe’s after work. Merry “not just a waitress” Murray sat for a bit in a booth with some favorite customers. Like Amador, she’s been with Pipersky since day one in 1987.
“It is so sad,” Murray said. (Hank Rosenfeld is a writer living in Ocean Park.)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on February 5, 2005. Read the original PDF.