We're having a beautiful day today, she said.
Yes, I agreed. Do you live here? I was thinking that maybe she could tell
us where Little Tokyo was, and where we went wrong.
I live just over there, in Little Tokyo, she said.
Aha! I thought. But she wasn't finished talking, not by a long shot.
I work with the homeless, all over the city, she said. Lived here for twelve
years. They all know me as Grandma, and they know they can come and tell me
anything. They can even cry on my shoulder. I don't judge them.
Her energy was astonishing. For a small-framed woman, she packed a lot of
punch.
I asked more questions, and Anthonyea was happy to share. She
told us how the low-rent housing was all being sold, and women were being
turned out of their homes, their belongings thrown on the street by
unsympathetic policemen. Anthonyea had gotten on the phone with the millionaire
whose properties were being sold. You might wonder how an unimposing older
woman living in this district had got a millionaire's phone number, but if you
met Ms. Castelli, you would not think it surprising at all.
He was horrified, she said of the millionaire. And now he is helping to provide
low-cost housing for women in the area, actively involved in solving the
problem. This tiny woman is making a huge difference.
Anthonyea asked our names, and shook our hands. Then she showed us her drivers
license, complaining about the picture. I'm a hundred percent Italian, she
said proudly. Then she told us to be careful. Don't go any farther than Fourth Street, she warned. After that it's just skid row. And most of the homeless are
harmless, but theres a few - a very few - who don't care about anybody, don't
care about themselves, don't care what they do to you.
She wanted to know where we were going. We had parked just past Fourth Street so
she said she would walk us there. They all know me, I'm safe, she assured us.
If the irony of this little woman acting as bodyguard for us didn't occur to
her, it was not lost on us.
We had noticed an increasing number of police cars cruising by as the hour
became later, which was one reason we had decided to leave before dark, instead
of eating in Little Tokyo (if we could find it) as we had originally planned to
do.
Those young policemen get all puffed up with power, she said, watching a
black and white cruiser zoom past. I'll give you an example: a harmless man
was sitting eating his sandwich on the side of the road, and a policeman came
and told him to move along. I marched up to that policeman and asked him what
he was doing. He said it was against the law to loiter there. There were five
workmen eating their lunch on the other side of the road, near a cantine, so I
said 'What about them?' I told him he could either clear all of them out, or
leave this poor man alone. What's it gonna be, officer?
I had no trouble imagining Anthonyea bullying a police officer. He backed down.
It was a wise decision.
Before we left, we got the name of her latest project, still in the fledgling
stage, called Women in Motion, a program designed to give women a place to
start, with housing, a preschool, and support services. She also gave us her
home address and a couple of warm hugs.
Oh, and she told us where Little Tokyo was, a couple of blocks west of where we
had been looking. Next time I'm in LA, I'll look them both up.
