The Nazis 1970

The year was 1970. I was working while in college at a record and music store in downtown Los Angeles. Growing up in that city I never really came into contact with real live "Nazis" before. But it was no secret to the Jewish community and others that they had their Southern California headquarters located in Glendale. For those of you who are not familiar with the Los Angeles area, Glendale is a small incorporated city adjacent to L.A.

Anyway there was very little warning, not like what you have today. Around lunch time the street was buzzing with the fact that the Nazis were going to march right down Broadway and past my store. I have to point out here that this area was heavily traveled by immigrant groups. The most prevalent being, even for 1970, were the Mexicans.

That part of downtown catered to the people of East L.A. Everywhere you walked you heard the blaring of Mariachi Music (indigenous folk music to Mexico). The smell of Mexican food wafted down the street and attacked your senses, sending images of Mexican culture, surrounding you at every turn. Spanish was heard frequently. I myself had to be bilingual to work in the store that employed me. It was a bit unusual as most of the employees of this area were from the "Barrios." How a nice Jewish boy from the Pico/Robertson area ended up working there is another story. But I digress. There were all the other minority groups there too. Asians, Blacks and of course our own people, who usually were the proprietors of most of these shops that lined the Blvd.

Upon hearing this news my skin began to crawl, I became tense, I had a bad feeling about it. When I was young, I was volatile, passionate and always ready for a fight if the cause was just. I had the feeling that I always get, just before the pugilist inside gets the better of me. Around 1:30 PM the little Armenian kid from the cigar stand next door came running in yelling "Larry, here they come. They’re coming down the street. Come on, come on!"

The owner of the store, who was a Holocaust survivor, was standing at the counter opposite me. I dropped what I was doing and started to walk to the front of the store. Our eyes met and locked. He did not say anything and never spoke about it afterward but I felt as if he was giving me his blessing to go and do what was necessary. He knew I was a Jew. He knew I could handle myself, as on more than one occasion I had bodily thrown out the local riffraff that was making trouble in the store. For that split second I felt a connection, a kinship, with our people who too late, fell into the Nazi grasp and were not able to do enough about it to make a difference. The ghosts of that past were urging me on through this one man's eyes who I am sure if he had been younger and healthier would have joined me on that walk out to the front of the store.

When I came out the door, I looked down the street which was filled with people as it always was. About a block away rising over the sea of humanity several red flags were bobbing slightly up and down in a standard rhythm. As they came closer a familiar lump appeared in my throat. Now, I could see them clearly. They were all dressed up in brown shirted uniforms complete with the red, black and white" Swastika" armband. They looked authentic all right. Right down to their spit and polish Jack boots which they were strutting in the goose step that was a trademark of the German Army. What was coming down the street in color I had seen many times before in black and white in the newsreels as they would bully their way down busy German streets before they came to power. It was Kafka-esque to be sure.

Now I can see their faces. The front of the line was where they strategically put the biggest guys. If there was violence they wanted these big, ugly looking rednecks up there where they could hopefully crack enough heads to get them through any trouble that might arise. This one guy I remember was marching down the street with a smile on his face like he was enjoying the whole thing. He was just waiting for someone to make a move. That's what he was there for.

Two doors away I could see between 25 or 30 of them marching two by two. They carried placards with the usual racist stuff that you would expect the Nazis to incite with. Most of it was against Mexicans and other Spanish speaking people. Since this was an area that catered to them they thought it would be a good idea to have lots of insulting stuff about them. Oh, and of course I saw at least two signs about us in there. They couldn't have a march anywhere without saying something about the Jews.

I could see the pimples on their faces. The scars of previous fights and the beads of sweat that were beginning to show on some of them. As they approached my muscles tightened and my fists clenched. I had decided that if trouble started I was going to go after "Smiley" in the front of the line. The laws of the street always say to go after the biggest ones first. You always better your odds that way. Usually when things would get to this point, I would be concentrating too hard for me to hear anything else other than my own breathing.

But something stopped me.

I heard the crowd shouting back at them. There was a groundswell of anger being directed right at them. It suddenly dawned on me that I was not alone. There were many people out there that hated what I hated. And they were expressing it in a way that only Latin tempers can do. It was beautiful. I fell back and relaxed. I let them pass because I knew they were going to have to end their little exhibition soon or they would be terribly outnumbered by the people on the street.

With each step they took the crowd seemed to get louder and moved closer to them. They passed me without incident but as they were going by I saw real fear from the guys who were pulling up the rear. One young man in his early twenties seemed genuinely scared as his eyes kept darting back and forth as if an attempt to watch every move the crowd made. That was quite a contrast from that big, ugly smiling redneck they had in front. The irony of how fast the scene went from something the Nazis could control and remain confident to one where they looked intimidated and scared, is something that sticks in my mind to this day. That guy on the end looked like he would have rather been anywhere else at that moment other than in that line.

About twenty yards past my store bedlam broke. I saw the flags with the "Swastikas" go down first. Fists were flying everywhere and people were screaming. Non combatants were running from the scene to avoid possibly getting hurt. Every single one of the Nazis went down. None of them escaped without at least minor injury. I did not partake in those activities as I was content to be a spectator. I was just too amazed that so many people could get so pissed off at one time at the people who were my mortal enemies. There were old ladies and people in wheel chairs getting into it. It was really a sight. The LAPD had their work cut out for them in breaking it up. The Nazis were taught a lesson that day. They were sent back to Glendale licking their wounds, like the dogs that they are. Its too bad some of them didn't die.

I learned something that day too. The Nazis will never be able to gain any kind of foothold here in America. Americans are just too smart for that. I believe that as long as we keep our democratic principals, groups like the KKK, the Nazis, and the Aryan Brotherhood will always remain marginalized and at the very outskirts of our society, lest they get their butts kicked.