The LA riots: Amid divisiveness, an act of unity

Ten years ago tomorrow, South Central Los Angeles and neighboring Koreatown endured three days of arson, looting, riots and beatings. Much of the violence was directed at Korean-owned shops. But one Korean, now in Seattle, not only witnessed the rage but saw the determination of some African Americans to save his store.

Ja Koo works the cash register at a Seattle neighborhood market, dispensing Marlboro Lights and Lotto tickets, talking small with customers and packing paper into plastic.

A short man with salt-and-pepper hair and a cellphone hoisted on his hip, Koo's routine is not altogether different than a decade ago when he owned a market in South Central Los Angeles.

Back then, Butcher Boys market was his $160,000 investment. Every flank of beef, pound of oranges, carton of milk and bottle of beer that Koo sold inched him closer to his American dream. A Korean immigrant, a husband and father building a better future.

But 10 years ago tomorrow, Butcher Boys sat at ground zero of one of the biggest social upheavals of modern time. When a jury acquitted four white police officers in the beating of black motorist Rodney King, South Central erupted into a battlefield of rioting, looting and beatings.

"Just like war," Koo recalls, standing in a grocery stockroom on Capitol Hill.

Fifty-five people died in three days of riots. Some 3,000 businesses, the majority Korean-owned, were destroyed.

But remarkably, in spite of so much fury, Koo's Butcher Boys emerged unscathed, protected for days by black customers and neighbors.

"They told me it was because I did such a good thing," the 53-year-old Koo says quietly.

And from the Seattle stockroom, he tells his L.A. story about a former employee, a black man everyone knew as Jimmy.

Part of neighborhood's fabric

His name was James Stanley. Short and heavy, Jimmy must have been in his 60s when he and Koo met in 1988.

That was the year Koo bought Butcher Boys; it had just four employees, including Jimmy.

Koo had emigrated from Seoul, South Korea, three years earlier, settling in Southern California. He arrived with his wife and two children. And like many Korean immigrants, determined but having few English skills, Koo saw the practicality of running a grocery store, even in a tough neighborhood.

His store at West 74th and Broadway was eight miles from downtown. South Central, Koo recalls, was a sprawling, low-income place sprinkled with churches, beauty stores and cash-checking shops — and doused in crime.

"My brother-in-law had two liquor stores in South Central L.A.," Koo said. "When he picked me up from the airport, we stopped at one of his stores. I saw the bars on the windows. I thought that was strange.

"Later, I knew why they were there. My brother gave me an education about life in South Central L.A. He told me, 'Be careful all the time. Before you get into your car, look around. Then lock the door right away.' "

A grocer's life is nonstop, 12 hours a day, six days a week of purchasing, restocking and balancing the books. Little time for anything else.

But whenever the routine paused at Butcher Boys, Jimmy shared snippets of his life with Koo: He had grown up in the neighborhood, once nice and quiet. He watched the store burn down during the 1965 Watts riot and then be rebuilt. He had worked at the store for decades and still lived just a half-block away. And with the exception of a stepdaughter, he had no family.

Every morning, Koo drove from the city of Fullerton to South Central to open the store. And every morning, there was Jimmy, waiting outside, smoking a cigarette, chatting with folk, ready to work.

Tensions explode

The 1992 riots erupted April 29, an event now remembered by Korean Americans as "Sa-i-gu," literally 4-2-9.

As much as the jury's acquittal of police in the King beating symbolized racial injustice and the failure of the criminal-justice system to African Americans nationwide, the riots served notice to the Korean-American community that it was vulnerable and lacking political clout.

Within hours of the King verdict, South Central and neighboring Koreatown exploded in violence, notorious images seared in the public's memory because much of it was broadcast live.

In South Central, some 15 blocks from Butcher Boys, a black man pulled white truck driver Reginald Denny from his vehicle and beat him with a brick.

Latinos and blacks seized the streets, raiding electronics, grocery and fast-food shops, torching cars and buildings.

Korean shop owners, crouched in doorways and on roofs, fired guns.

Three days later, an estimated $1 billion worth of property had been damaged, much of it Korean-owned. The violence roused the Korean-American community throughout the country, including in Seattle.

"We were a young community. If we had had better contact with the police, with the city leaders, the damage wouldn't have been that large," said Michael Park, former Federal Way mayor, who watched the violence on TV.

"It was a very rude awakening in the community," said Martha Choe, director of the state's Office of Trade and Economic Development and former Seattle city councilwoman. "The riots showed how we didn't have anyone speaking on our behalf, neither in politics nor in the media."

As they look back on Sa-i-gu, Choe and other Korean Americans often accuse the media and its coverage of the riots as augmenting racial tension between blacks and Koreans.

That's not to say they discount the animosity or distrust both communities felt back then. But the media, Choe says, failed to examine the longstanding frustrations South Central residents had felt for decades.

Indeed, as Koo recalls the "nightmare" riots, he doesn't bring up race as much as he talks about poverty.

"Many people on welfare. Many people with food stamps. They didn't have much to make a living. Many customers came in on the first of the month, with their checks, when they had money. And by the 15th, they were struggling."

'He was good people'

Koo admired Jimmy's work ethic and friendliness. He also respected him. Jimmy was some 20 years older and knowledgeable about local ways.

"He was an American," Koo said. "He had a lot of common sense."

One of the biggest adjustments for Korean immigrants, explains Suk Dong Kang, a Seattle grocer and longtime local Korean community leader, is learning American culture.

"This is Korean," Kang said as he clasps his hands behind his back and lifts his chin.

"This is America." Kang's body loosens up. "Hey John. Hey man. How's it going?" he says as he pretends to punch a guy in the shoulder.

"In Korea, you might bow to an old man. Here, you might see a young man say 'Hello' to an older man in the shoulder. That's hard to see."

In South Central, Koo saw how some of his black and Latino customers regarded him as an outsider. At times, they'd sneer "You Korean people!"

But Jimmy's presence occasionally made strangers friendlier to Koo. And sometimes, when a customer was rude or attempted to shoplift, the pair lamented the lack of respect.

"Sometimes, if I had a problem, I'd ask Jimmy, 'What would you do?' because he was older and knew more."

By the time Koo met Jimmy, Jimmy was sick from heart disease and other illnesses. In the spring of 1990, when his health got worse, Koo encouraged Jimmy to take time off, assuring him that he'd cover his wages.

A few days later, Jimmy's stepdaughter called Koo when she couldn't reach Jimmy on the phone.

Together, they went to Jimmy's place.

"We found Jimmy dead on the floor. He had had a heart attack."

Because the stepdaughter didn't have much money, Koo volunteered to pay for the funeral. In the days after his death, customers walked into the store, looked at Koo, dropped change into a "For Jimmy" donation box on the counter, and cried.

"Oriental people always respect elder people, like brothers and fathers," Koo said. "What was the difference with Jimmy? He worked for me. He was good people."

Protected by neighbors

Thirteen months had passed since the King beating, and L.A. awaited the jury's verdict. Koo and other grocers had been talking to one another for weeks, wondering what would happen if the officers were acquitted and worrying they and their stores would be attacked.

Their concern had much to do with the neighborhood shooting death a year earlier of black teenager Latasha Harlins by Korean-American grocer Soon Ja Du, who had accused Harlins of stealing orange juice. Du was later convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to five years probation, outraging many African Americans and sparking boycotts.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when the jury acquitted the L.A. officers of beating King. Koo immediately knew something was wrong by how angrily neighborhood residents talked to one another. Customers began warning him to close early.

At home that night, Koo saw the TV images of the Denny beating, the arsons and looting: "Horrible."

The next day, Koo drove to his market, passing surreal scenes of residents smashing into stores with baseball bats while other residents videotaped them.

He found Butcher Boys untouched; later that night, a neighborhood resident phoned him and told him some neighbors had been guarding the store.

Koo and his wife returned to the market and found a small group.

"They said, 'Just go home. Don't worry,' " Koo remembers. "I didn't know what to think."

African Americans Matthew Gatson and Alberta Gentile camped out for three days to discourage rioters, a newspaper reported.

"I said, 'This is the only store we have in the neighborhood between Florence and Manchester. We would appreciate it very much if you don't burn it and break into it,' " resident Douil Galbreth said to some young men, The Los Angeles Wave reported in its May 20 issue that year.

Residents thanked Koo for his business and for taking care of Jimmy, who had died more than a year earlier.

"Douil said people wanted to help me because I had done a good thing," Koo said. "I never think what I did was good."

In 1995, Koo, a humble, private man, packed his family and belongings into his van and moved north to Federal Way. South Central never recovered enough to sustain his store after the riots. The crime, too, including being robbed and watching someone fire a gun at his wife, persuaded him to get out.

Hardly anyone in Seattle knows about Butcher Boys or Jimmy, including Koo's boss at Benson's Grocery on Capitol Hill, where Koo works from 2 p.m. to 2 a.m. ringing up the purchases of neighborhood folk who dribble in.

Koo envisions himself still working at the age of 60 or so, like Jimmy. By then, his children will be out of college and Koo imagines he will be debt-free.

When he looks back 10 years, Koo says the riots, if anything, showed him how one small act, which seemed ordinary to him, looked exceptional to others.

"You know the only thing I regret now?" Koo asks quietly. "I didn't get him a tombstone. I don't know why. Maybe I got busy or I forgot. Sometimes, I remember that I didn't make a tombstone."

Koo lowers his eyes and turns away.

Florangela Davila can be reached at 206-464-2916 or fdavila@seattletimes.com