Taking care of business

Former Los Angeles Times staffer Michael Krikorian, one of several reporters to work the paper's gangs beat over the past decade or so (he later contributed a number of strong stories to the LA Weekly), has a personal piece in this weekend's New York Times Magazine. Before he got into journalism, Krikorian (yes, related to LAT reporter Greg Krikorian) became involved with a Compton crackhead who had his son and namesake. Turned out the boy wasn't his, but Krikorian supported him for awhile — then got the call that Michael Krikorian Jr. had been arrested for a gang killing.

One morning a few weeks later, I went over to the notorious Men’s Central Jail, where half a dozen inmates have been killed in the last few years. I got in the dreaded line of visitors who wait outside to see loved ones. You really do have to love the person who’s incarcerated to get in that damn line. It felt as long as a football field.

Michael Jr., I learned from Addie, had joined the Neighborhood Compton Crips. As I waited in line, I wondered where Li’l Mike would be today if I really were his father and had raised him. And I wondered where I would be if it hadn’t been for my own father. Maybe I’d be there, too. I got into trouble twice as an adult, and both times my dad came to my rescue.

After about 90 minutes outside, I was let into the jail’s waiting room — a depressing place with flies and swarms of little kids running around. Finally, after another hour and a half, a deputy called out Michael’s name.

I went to Row F, Seat 14, and there he was, waiting on the other side of a pitted glass partition. He looked good — lean and muscular, like a cornerback or a wide receiver. Li’l Mike is now 6-foot-2, 205 pounds.

He looked at me as if to say: “Why you sitting here? You must have the wrong seat.” I just sat there looking at him. Slowly, the past came back: a lopsided grin, then a smile, then the big smile I remember. That recognition was sweet. It took a minute for the phones to work, so we just kept staring at each other. Then the phones came on.

Read the rest. I'm all for more of these revealing first-person stories by newspaper journalists, a trend that includes the LAT's Scott Glover recounting on Thursday his disruptive search for his birth parents in Ireland and Scotland — ending with his giving up alcohol — and NYT national reporter (and former LAT staffer) Amy Harmon's funny story about confronting the genetic pluses and minuses in her DNA test.