Haunted by or perhaps taunted by those Twainish words in my last diary entry I listened to the choppers circling over my house this afternoon. I knew they were all shooting TV pictures of the Immigration March. “I’ve got work to do!” I grumbled to myself. But just two blocks away unknown events were taking place. All I had to do was lock my door and take a stroll and check it out. It’s not like 400,000 people were going to walk past the end of my street every day of the year.
Camera in hand I set off into the unknown – I was even wearing a white T-shirt. I was an illegal alien too once – an immigrant. After six years I got lucky and won a green card in the lottery and anyone will tell you that’s a huge gift of relief.
So I went to stare at the aliens marching past and what I found was a stream of happy smiling Angelinos, 400,000 strong, marching by. Not aliens but Angelinos. Without these people L.A. would not be the city I have come to love; heck THEY ARE L.A.!
And wasn’t America built by immigrants anyway?
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