Sentencings Reopen L.A.’s Painful Wounds

In a city struggling to heal itself, the sentencing of two Los Angeles police officers Wednesday was like the painful reopening of a wound.

This was supposed to be the final chapter to more than two years of racial division and suspicion about the judicial system since the beating of Rodney G. King. But for many people--both those who saw the 2 1/2-year sentences as being too harsh and those who attacked them as too lenient--the sentencing of Officer Laurence M. Powell and Sgt. Stacey C. Koon revived the uneasy sense that Los Angeles is still a city divided.

“These guys have a badge and they’re allowed to beat a man and you give them 30 months. But if he was a black man he’d have gotten 25 to life,” said 24-year-old Tracie King as she walked in the Hyde Park neighborhood of South-Central where one of the first rocks was thrown during last year’s riots. “It’s all because of the color of your skin.”

As U.S. District Judge John G. Davies handed down the sentences, many people who had expected a routine resolution to the case found themselves confronting a new anxiety over what the future holds.

At the First African Methodist Episcopal Church, where more than 100 African-American leaders and community members had gathered for a candlelight vigil Wednesday morning, most expressed extreme disappointment with the judge’s decision.

“I’m disappointed, but it’s deeper than that--I’d almost say grief,” James M. Thomas said. “I just cannot believe that no matter what we do, no matter how we try to support the fabric of this country, that African-Americans are still discounted as a people.”

On the streets, things were peaceful but there was anger over the widely held belief that little has changed since King was beaten in March, 1991.

“You’ll never hear the end of this,” said Rose Brown, a 45-year-old Los Angeles homemaker who sat in the courtroom to hear the sentences read. “It was like the same sad void that I felt in Simi Valley. Your insides try to eat you up like they are devouring you.”

Milton Adams, 17, who was standing with friends at 67th Street and 8th Avenue in South-Central said: “They give people 27 to life for penny-ante stuff. Some of my homeboys are doing five years for attempted murder. That’s just not right.”

Many supporters of Koon and Powell also expressed disappointment at the sentences--in their case because of what they said was unfair punishment for officers simply doing their jobs.

At the LAPD’s station in the Foothill Division, where Koon and Powell were based, the lights in the watch office were turned off and all eyes turned to the television mounted on the wall as the sentences were read.

But it was a private moment for the officers, unlike most others during the past 2 1/2 years at the station that has perhaps been the focal point of the Rodney King affair. Reporters were not allowed past the front lobby during the sentencing and officers were reticent to speak.

Outside the station, a veteran Foothill officer who at one time worked for Koon shook his head and lamented the day’s events. “He was an outstanding officer, an outstanding supervisor,” said the officer, who asked not to be identified. He said he and other officers believe Koon and Powell were political sacrifices, that what some called a lenient sentence is, in fact, 30 months too long.

“It’s completely political,” he said. “They say go out there and do your job. But look what happens. These are officers who did their job and look what happened to them.”

The officer credited Judge John Davies for raising concerns that the officers faced double jeopardy by being tried twice--a belief held by many officers. But he pointed out that the judge’s seemingly second-by-second analysis of the famous videotape illustrates how hard police work has become.

“Are we supposed to use a stopwatch now in deciding what is excessive force?” he asked, frustration evident in his voice.

Capt. Tim McBride, commander of the Foothill Division, said Wednesday may have been the toughest day for the cops in the 2 1/2-year King saga.

“I think that knowing that these two officers are going to prison for this incident is very difficult for their co-workers,” McBride said. “Most officers are going to project themselves into that position. That is a most difficult pill for them to swallow.”

One officer at police headquarters had a more cynical response. “Did you hear they’re painting the police cars downstairs?” asked Detective Bill Helm. “They’re going to say, ‘To protect and to serve time.’ ”

The sentences refocused attention on the case that has often been held up like a mirror to the King beating: the assault on white trucker Reginald O. Denny. Two young African-American defendants, part of a group that supporters have dubbed the LA4, are about to be tried in the attack that took place at Florence and Normandie avenues during the early hours of the 1992 riots.

On Wednesday, the sentencing of the officers served as a reminder that the two Denny defendants would soon wind their way through a judicial system that many believe is not color-blind.

The Rev. Cecil (Chip) Murray, pastor of the First A.M.E. Church, said it is inevitable that comparisons will be drawn between the Denny case and the one that ended Wednesday.

“We’ll see how the two stack up,” he said. “If there’s some type of balance, then OK. A level playing field, that’s what people ask.”

But Murray warned that if the defendants in the Denny case are treated more harshly, “then we’re going to have to do everything we can to find a positive way to do the positive thing because the anger will be intense.”

A range of public officials, including Mayor Richard Riordan, spoke out after the sentencing, urging calm and racial unity in the city as was done after the state trial of the two officers and their co-defendants.

But for many people, regardless of whether they saw the sentences as being fair, the appeals did little to assuage their uncomfortable feeling that the future remains uncertain.

“I’m just worried about what it’ll do to the city,” said Tawny Sanders, a Bel-Air housewife. “Because there are going to be a lot of people who think they (the officers) should have gotten more time. It just adds more tension to our city again.”

A mile north of the Foothill station, the lot where Rodney King was beaten by officers was the scene of little activity Wednesday. At one point, a young couple stopped their car, jumped out and took pictures of each other at the beating site.

Early in the morning, before the sentencing, a man pulled up in a pickup truck and placed a homemade plywood tombstone at the edge of the lot, reading: “HERE LIES JUSTICE. Killed by society in the name of Rodney King. 3-3-91 God Help us All.”

Throughout the day, police patrol cars occasionally pulled into the lot and the officers studied the message before driving on.

In Van Nuys, Sgt. Brett Papworth, a supervisor like Koon, told his officers during roll call to maintain control no matter what they were feeling. Afterward, he said his own emotions on the subject run deep.

“This whole situation has left a lot of officers questioning their future,” Papworth said. “They wonder how they will be judged in future situations when force is needed and used. It’s scary.”

“When you see bank robbers getting light sentences and then federal prosecutors asking for the maximum . . . it does seem that these two are being singled out,” Papworth said. “The psychology of the situation that is getting to the officers is ‘Hey, we need you and we want you--but if you make a mistake we’re going to hang you.’ ”

“Those guys were caught in the political arena,” said another officer. “It makes you think, ‘What if it happened to me?’ When you see officers going to prison it makes you question how far you want to stick your neck out.”

At the Corral saloon in Lake View Terrace, next door to the triangular lot where King was beaten, a debate over issues of justice raged.

Nursing their Budweisers and Bloody Marys, some said the 30-month sentence was fair and square. Others were outraged that the officers were not treated more leniently.

“I think the sentencing was good,” patron Andy Culp said. “You just don’t kick a man while he’s down. I don’t care if you are cops. These guys are trained in the art of subduing people. They’re trained to use those batons only in self-defense.

“I don’t care how high he was, they shouldn’t have used those clubs. That was wrong.”

Just down the bar, Larry Bain was hearing none of that.

“Rodney King got what was coming to him,” Bain said. “Even if he got a beating, he still broke the law.”

Most of all, Bain said, he is simply tired of hearing about the case and wishes it were all over.

“I’m just sick of it,” he said. “ Sheesh, next thing you know, they’re going to build a damned monument out there.”

In Koreatown, Hang Lee, the owner of a furniture store that was stripped by looters last year, spent much of the day listening to news bulletins. After the riots, he said, insurance money enabled him to restock his Elegant Lifestyle store at Melrose and Western avenues with new couches, tables and lamps.

At a small gathering Wednesday night to call for “healing, justice and peace,” members of the Faith United Methodist Church in South Los Angeles decried the sentences and called for nonviolent action. The Rev. M. Andrew Robinson-Gaither said Judge Davies’ “leniency indicates to us the system doesn’t care about people of color.”

And Paul Parker III, a relative of one of those facing trial in the Denny beating, told church members that Wednesday’s sentencing showed the riots “were justifiable. If there is no justice for blacks, there will be no peace,” Parker said.

At the Galleria mall in Sherman Oaks, Megan Van Dusen and Ashley Byrn--both 15, talked about the “Rodney King thing.”

“I don’t know what to think about that whole thing,” sighed Ashley, running a hand through her auburn bob, past her tiny silver nose ring.

“I’m glad they got time in jail cause, I mean, it’s obvious they’d done something wrong. It does seem kinda short. I think a lot of people are going to be angry and I wouldn’t be surprised if something else happens.”

“I’ve got really mixed views,” said Megan. “I think time in jail is important, I guess. . . . I kind of got fed up with it.”

Asked to explain, Megan said, “Well, I think people were missing the point in the whole riot deal. I think the anger was rooted in other places. I mean, instead of talking about ‘Rebuilding LA’ I think we needed to talk about rebuilding hearts and stuff.”

“And the racial thing really bothers me too,” Ashley interjected. “It just got too easy to blame all the white people or all the black people. It just got too widespread.”

What did she think about what happened specifically between King and the police?

“Oh god,” Ashley sighed again. “Whether or not he (King) did something very wrong, they did something really wrong.”

Later, Megan said, “the media and society” got so focused on the riots that everyone forgot “these problems have been going on forever.”

Contributing to this article were Times staff writers Brian Ballou, Leslie Berger, Miguel Bustillo, Aileen Cho, Ashley Dunn, Virginia Ellis, Geraldine Espana, Paul Feldman, Andrea Ford, John M. Glionna, E.J. Gong, Larry Gordon, Carla Hall, K. Connie Kang, Chau Lam, Christina Lima, Patrick J. McDonnell, Jean Merl, Amy Wallace and Teresa Willis.