There's a special beauty in the graduation ceremony for 155 adults by El Centro Latino for Literacy in Pico Union. "Manos Amigas/Helping Hands" shows that a typically concealed problem, illiteracy, can be exposed and toppled and its replacement -- the ability to read -- celebrated publicly.

It takes guts and resolve to learn to read as an adult. Chicken Corner offers her heartfelt congratulations and admiration to El Centro's class of 2012.

The ceremony is taking place at this moment, and is being live-blogged until 8:30 p.m. this evening. The speeches, including one by CD-1's Ed Reyes, are mostly in Spanish.

Last week, Echo Park lost one of the colorful, larger-than-life persons who make the history of this colorful neighborhood. Little Man was a dog, and he was a local legend in his lifetime. He spent his latter years under the guardianship of Christine Peters, who posted the following appreciation on our neighborhood list serv (minimally edited by Chicken Corner):

"Little Man" as we knew him, but some called "Red," "Red Dog," "Wookie," and in his early days "Cujo" was a local legend in Elysian Park. In late September 2001 he showed up in Elysian Park, making a camp for himself on the Vista Gordo Meadow. A scrappy young thing, with a too tight puppy collar growing into his neck, he made it very clear, you can look, but don't touch. Oh, and you can feed me, leave me water, let me walk with you and your pack, but no touching. Well, we did trap him, tackle him and get that collar off of him, but he was soon up and over or under the fence, only to park himself across the street on the curb, staring into the place that held his friends "captive." He waited daily for them to escape captivity, like clockwork, in the morning and evening. He never understood why they did not try and escape as he had.

Years passed. So did attempts to trap and tame him. Much roasted chicken was used to lure him into the gated front yard -- only for him to tunnel out and wait, across the street. Animal Services set traps, catching multiple neighborhood dogs, squirrels, even a skunk, but never Little Man. Even the self proclaimed "best roper in the West," who then worked for Animal Services, left unrewarded. Little Man was not to be had--he lived on his own terms, and he liked it that way. Until a very hot day in 2008 when his guard was down.

Little Man was so well known in Elysian Park, people would make special trips to feed him and offer him treats. Or just stop by for a visit. He'd become very set in his ways and where he would hang out. He would tag along with other folks on their walks, send out "woof woof" warnings to dogs he considered encroaching on his territory, and overall lived a simple life, hanging curbside.

One afternoon, Animal Control had a truck in the area, looking for a stray pit bull that had attacked another dog. They did not find him, but instead, a deeply slumbering Little Man basking in the shade of a coast live oak tree. After 6 1/2 years, he was caught-and sent to the "Big House." No tunneling out there.

The neighbors of Vista Gordo were beside themselves. What to do? How do we get him back? Little Man logged more visitors than the most charming and precious canines at the shelter. The Shelter staff scratched their heads? Why would anyone care about this scrappy little stray dog? After weeks of negotiating with them, it was agreed he would be released to me, on the condition he would NEVER be loose again. A tall order for a dog that had never been touched. But, fingers crossed behind my back, I swore to abide by the order. Papers signed, off he went to the vet to be neutered and micro-chipped. I made the vet promise to put a collar and tag on him while he was under for surgery. How else would I ever be able to get close to him?

Little Man's homecoming was an amazingly rewarding day. He was waiting outside the vet's office with a slip leash on. NO Collar. Ugh. The vet forgot. Now how was I going to get him in the car and into my house? We had brought Ray, his best buddy, in the car as a lure to get him in. He surprisingly allowed me to boost him into the back seat with Ray and home we went. Once out of the car, this little guy continued to be full of surprises. He let me slip a collar and leash on him, and then he walked like a show dog into the house, his signature fan tail waving back and forth. The next morning when the pack went for their walk, he joined us--on leash. My only explanation I could ever come up with for this sudden behavior, was, that he was scared straight. Like the 1970s prison documentary they showed us kids (those of us who were in school in the 70s), to make us not get involved in crime. Whatever it was he was a changed man. No more attempts to escape, and soon he was walking on and off leash, never leaving the pack, and always coming back into the house at the end of our walks. He had a bed, and favorite couch on the back porch. He never spent another rainy night outside in the cold.

This miraculous journey continued on for the last 4 1/2 years. People would see him and not recognize him. He would greet his old pals with that signature circular fan wave of his bushy tail. He let people pet him.

Just four weeks ago he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a cancer that affects how the blood cells replenish. His issue was high viscosity of the blood which was making his heart work overtime. He still insisted on coming on a shorter version of the walk in the park, sniffing his way around, as he also had experienced sudden blindness. His medication seemed to be working, and just 2 days ago, he was barking to go out in the park, waving his tail, and gobbling up snacks.

He died in Christine's arms one night as she was settling him into the car to take him to the vet -- the car parked near the spot where I used to see him basking in the sun. Everyone knew him, and no one ever thought he was lost. He had a good life. So long, Little Man.

Photos: Little Man at the pound, Little Man at home.

Little Man was so well known in Elysian Park, people would make special trips to feed him and offer him treats. Or just stop by for a visit. He'd become very set in his ways and where he would hang out. He would tag along with other folks on their walks, send out "woof woof" warnings to dogs he considered encroaching on his territory, and overall lived a simple life, hanging curbside.

One afternoon, Animal Control had a truck in the area, looking for a stray pit bull that had attacked another dog. They did not find him, but instead, a deeply slumbering Little Man basking in the shade of a coast live oak tree. After 6 1/2 years, he was caught-and sent to the "Big House." No tunneling out there.

The neighbors of Vista Gordo were beside themselves. What to do? How do we get him back? Little Man logged more visitors than the most charming and precious canines at the shelter. The Shelter staff scratched their heads? Why would anyone care about this scrappy little stray dog? After weeks of negotiating with them, it was agreed he would be released to me, on the condition he would NEVER be loose again. A tall order for a dog that had never been touched. But, fingers crossed behind my back, I swore to abide by the order. Papers signed, off he went to the vet to be neutered and micro-chipped. I made the vet promise to put a collar and tag on him while he was under for surgery. How else would I ever be able to get close to him?

Little Man's homecoming was an amazingly rewarding day. He was waiting outside the vet's office with a slip leash on. NO Collar. Ugh. The vet forgot. Now how was I going to get him in the car and into my house? We had brought Ray, his best buddy, in the car as a lure to get him in. He surprisingly allowed me to boost him into the back seat with Ray and home we went. Once out of the car, this little guy continued to be full of surprises. He let me slip a collar and leash on him, and then he walked like a show dog into the house, his signature fan tail waving back and forth. The next morning when the pack went for their walk, he joined us--on leash. My only explanation I could ever come up with for this sudden behavior, was, that he was scared straight. Like the 1970s prison documentary they showed us kids (those of us who were in school in the 70s), to make us not get involved in crime. Whatever it was he was a changed man. No more attempts to escape, and soon he was walking on and off leash, never leaving the pack, and always coming back into the house at the end of our walks. He had a bed, and favorite couch on the back porch. He never spent another rainy night outside in the cold.

This miraculous journey continued on for the last 4 1/2 years. People would see him and not recognize him. He would greet his old pals with that signature circular fan wave of his bushy tail. He let people pet him.

Just four weeks ago he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, a cancer that affects how the blood cells replenish. His issue was high viscosity of the blood which was making his heart work overtime. He still insisted on coming on a shorter version of the walk in the park, sniffing his way around, as he also had experienced sudden blindness. His medication seemed to be working, and just 2 days ago, he was barking to go out in the park, waving his tail, and gobbling up snacks.

He died in Christine's arms one night as she was settling him into the car to take him to the vet -- the car parked near the spot where I used to see him basking in the sun. He had a good life. So long, Little Man.

Photo: Little Man at the pound.

Chicken Corner simply must join the online clucking and cooing over Endeavour's carrier strutting the skies of Los Angeles this afternoon. Talk about noise and excitement!

First there was the rumbling sound of the sky beast itself, and my husband calling out, "That's it!" We run outside, in plenty of time to see the aircrafts turning a wide circle to the west of our house. Down the hill there are the shrieks of hundreds of children on the playground of Elysian Heights Elementary.

A short time later, I am driving to an appointment and find upper Alvarado filled with people, in the street. It's bringing people together, which is exciting in itself. They're pointing binoculars and talking loud: The Shuttle is flying by!

On the 2 Freeway folks are driving slow....there's the Shuttle again!

On the 134 westbound, motorists have turned the shoulder into a parking lane as they stop to watch ... the Shuttle again!

Meanwhile, in Altadena, children have been waiting on a field for two hours to see the sight. One has fainted from the heat -- they pour water on him, another has been sick. Finally, the Shuttle comes and all the children start screaming, I am told by a young student named Eliza.

"Was it thrilling to see the Shuttle?" Chicken Corner asks.

"When all the kids started screaming, that was exciting."

But was it worth the screaming of chain saws killing 400 trees?

Ask the residents of Inglewood and South Los Angeles.

Update: It's 8:42 p.m., and a helicopter flies overhead. My daughter, Madeleine, asks, "What is that noise? Is it the Space Shuttle again?" Over and out, from Echo Park.

My friend Iva told me about it, and it sounded too good to be true. A $5 Metrolink train ride from Union Station to the ocean at San Clemente, the platform just a few feet from the beach, a pier, and cafes you can walk to. Her enthusiasm was pure and contagious. "It's just like Europe!" she said.

That's one of the features of Los Angeles. Whenever something is good here, people -- even longtime residents -- say it reminds them of someplace else. As if the ocean were a piece of stagecraft.

So, it's Labor Day weekend. The perfect time to be at the beach, and the perfect time not to be driving. Saturday morning, we are on the train. And it's nearly empty. I had to ask myself, is this a state secret? We have "system-wide," round-trip tickets that cost $10 and can be used on Sunday as well. The ride is about an hour and twenty, and -- just as advertised -- the beach is directly across from the station platform. The water is blue, and the surf is high, the beaches fairly crowded but not miserably so.

Why was I not told about this sooner? And don't tell me I was out of town.

It's a happy day, with a couple of drawbacks. First, is the schedule. The last train back to L.A. leaves at 4:30, which means no time to eat dinner in a restaurant on the pier. (At 7 p.m. we ate dinner at Mongolian BBQ in Silver Lake, sun-drenched and hungry, and permitted the illusion we were still at the beach.)

The second off-put is the presence of both sheriff's deputies and three bomb-squad uniformed cops with their labrador-retriever bomb dog. Chicken Corner's guess = Labor Day weekend, when train stations across the nation are probably on high alert. Every time a train (Amtrack and Metrolink) arrives, the cops patrol the "platform," which actually is at ground level.

The three lifeguards at our station were on stand-up alert, too, frantic with their binoculars, with the crowds and the busy surf. All this nervous energy, kind of made me think of NYC.

Photos: Top, Union Station, Saturday morning; middle, our train, Saturday morning; bottom, 4:20 p.m., seasoned ticket-holders wait for the train back to L.A.