Dolores Mission Church

Calling for just and humane immigration reform, the Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights on Wednesday declared February a month of fasting and prayer to protest proposed legislation that would make it illegal for churches and other organizations to assist undocumented workers. "I dare Los Angeles to get by one day without immigration," said Father Michael Kennedy, whose church shelters 50 to 60 people, most of whom are illegal immigrants.

The neighborhood surrounding Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights has been rocked by four homicides in three months. Ricardo Orozco was the first. He was hanging out with a cousin inside a gated community off Gless and 4th streets when two armed men walked up and shot and killed him in early April. Later that month and just half a mile away, Eddie Banks was shot and killed by a rival gang member. Frankie Velasquez's slaying followed less than a week later, and Emmanual Vargas' death occurred a month after that.

They filled the front pews of Dolores Mission Church at the 10:30 a.m. Spanish Mass. Some women moved forward, sitting in those first three rows without shame, knowing it was a special service devoted to them. Others stepped forward later. Only after Father Michael Kennedy announced what day it was. "Today, we are here for the mothers who have sons in prison," Kennedy said. "If there is anyone who has a son in jail and would like to sit in the front, please come, so we can welcome you."

Fundamental change usually proceeds from the bottom up, which is why it often blindsides most politicians and much of the media. For example, the "tea party"-style rage that is this election cycle's defining characteristic grows out of a broad, if inchoate, sense that the American economy no longer apportions prosperity or opportunity in anything close to an equitable fashion. As David Cay Johnston reported Monday, last year the 74 highest-paid Americans each earned an average of $519 million annually ?

I wish there were more people like Father Boyle out there fighting for the lives and futures of these kids. Perhaps you should publish an address where people can send donations--which I have done. I sent mine to Father Gregory Boyle, Dolores Mission Church, 171 S. Gless St., Los Angeles, Calif. 90033. CHERYL D. ROMINE Studio City

It's partly a photo exhibit and partly a chronicle of a community framed through the eyes of six residents. "We want to show people who we are," said Grace Campos, 17, one of six youths hired to document life in the Pico-Aliso housing project this summer for the "We Live Here! Nosotros Vivimos Aqui!" exhibit. "We want to let the other part of society see that our community is the same or better. We want to show them how united we are and how good we are."

The neighborhood surrounding Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights has been rocked by four homicides in three months. Ricardo Orozco was the first. He was hanging out with a cousin inside a gated community off Gless and 4th streets when two armed men walked up and shot and killed him in early April. Later that month and just half a mile away, Eddie Banks was shot and killed by a rival gang member. Frankie Velasquez's slaying followed less than a week later, and Emmanual Vargas' death occurred a month after that.

At exactly 7 p.m. on an uncommonly warm night in early March, 1990, some 300 mourners, most of them members of the Latino gang the East L.A. Dukes, descend upon Dolores Mission Church at the corner of 3rd and Gless streets in Boyle Heights. They arrive by the carload and cram themselves into the scarred wooden pews that fill the sanctuary. As they file into the small stucco building, they cast edgy glances toward the street, as if expecting trouble.

The leaders of two Los Angeles churches that offer sanctuary and refuge to about 300 illegal aliens appealed to fellow clergymen of all faiths Wednesday to open their doors to homeless aliens who are turned away each night.

In the still of a recent evening, the sobs of gang members resounded within the rough stucco walls of Dolores Mission Catholic Church. Bearing rosaries and wearing sweat shirts inscribed with the epitaph, "Rest in Peace, Trigger," more than 500 mourners filed into the little Boyle Heights sanctuary for the funeral of 17-year-old Richard Paez, shot down at a pizza parlor by a member of a rival gang.

On the plaza of Dolores Mission Church, long a sanctuary for illegal immigrants, a Roman Catholic priest asked the question that has hovered in the minds of so many of the city's migrants since Charlie Beck was appointed Los Angeles police chief. Flanked by parishioners holding flickering votive candles in the cool evening air, Father Scott Santarosa asked Beck whether he could assure community members that they will not be asked about their immigration status if they report a crime. " Sí," Beck said, drawing laughs and applause from the crowd.

Calling for just and humane immigration reform, the Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights on Wednesday declared February a month of fasting and prayer to protest proposed legislation that would make it illegal for churches and other organizations to assist undocumented workers. "I dare Los Angeles to get by one day without immigration," said Father Michael Kennedy, whose church shelters 50 to 60 people, most of whom are illegal immigrants.

A placard outside Dolores Mission Church in Boyle Heights announced "NO WAR" to all who entered its humble sanctuary Sunday. The weekly bulletin included a flier for a "Stop the War" rally and an article featuring Pastor Michael Kennedy declaring his antiwar stance. Inside, a homemade memorial asked the Virgin de Guadalupe to "give peace to our sons, protect our brothers, sisters and friends" and listed nine pages of parishioners or their relatives at war in Iraq.

To a world that celebrates stock options, celebrities and A-list power couples, they are nobodies. The men who huddle every night in the sanctuary of Delores Mission Catholic Church in Boyle Heights have no home. Few speak English. Most have no steady job, waking up before dawn to scrounge for menial work as day laborers.

They filled the front pews of Dolores Mission Church at the 10:30 a.m. Spanish Mass. Some women moved forward, sitting in those first three rows without shame, knowing it was a special service devoted to them. Others stepped forward later. Only after Father Michael Kennedy announced what day it was. "Today, we are here for the mothers who have sons in prison," Kennedy said. "If there is anyone who has a son in jail and would like to sit in the front, please come, so we can welcome you."

The men straggle into the small Eastside church as the evening sun dips behind the downtown skyscrapers. Exhausted and dirty, they take turns showering in the adjacent office bathroom, then wait quietly on wooden benches outside the church for dinner. When darkness falls, they unroll their sleeping bags on the church pews and bed down for the night--if not comfortably, at least safe from the perils of street life.

Sophomore Emily Castillo knelt before one of the 76 plastic foam crosses in a field at Roosevelt High School on Thursday, and gently pinned a baby-blue ribbon to it. It was in memory of her cousin Emily Castillo, shot dead in gang cross-fire just before Christmas a few blocks from the Boyle Heights school.

On the plaza of Dolores Mission Church, long a sanctuary for illegal immigrants, a Roman Catholic priest asked the question that has hovered in the minds of so many of the city's migrants since Charlie Beck was appointed Los Angeles police chief. Flanked by parishioners holding flickering votive candles in the cool evening air, Father Scott Santarosa asked Beck whether he could assure community members that they will not be asked about their immigration status if they report a crime. " Sí," Beck said, drawing laughs and applause from the crowd.

Sophomore Emily Castillo knelt before one of the 76 plastic foam crosses in a field at Roosevelt High School on Thursday, and gently pinned a baby-blue ribbon to it. It was in memory of her cousin Emily Castillo, shot dead in gang cross-fire just before Christmas a few blocks from the Boyle Heights school.

"What makes it really crazy," said Joe Diaz, "is that there are eight gangs in a 2 1/2-block area." Diaz is talking about the Pico-Aliso Housing Projects in Boyle Heights, a couple miles east of Downtown, where he has lived all of his 21 years. Although he admits that the area has its problems--gang shootings are not unusual--he still believes the neighborhood is unfairly portrayed by the media as just another crime-ridden barrio. "People here are together, not separate," he said.