I prepared well in advance for the Saturday book panel titled Politics and History: Roots of Black Resistance. Like last year, I purchased my tickets the night before, printed out a map of the USC campus, and felt certain I could find the appropriate halls or auditoriums. Undeterred by an infection that caused me to go to urgent care at 9 a.m. that same morning, I took my prescribed antibiotics and set off for downtown LA.
As I drove south on Vermont Boulevard near the campus, I noticed bumper-to-bumper traffic inching north towards Jefferson. Yet, I felt confident that my entry at the parking gate on Exposition would afford me swift entrance – as it did last year -- so that I could make my first panel at 1:30 p.m. After I pulled up to the booth, the attendant informed me that I needed a reservation for parking to enter the campus but that I could proceed north on Vermont to access parking at the Jefferson lot. Having already seen the snarl of traffic on Vermont, I opted to go south and check for parking at the Museum of Natural History. Full. Same for the Coliseum where I saw crowds and more crowds of students, alumni, friends, and families exiting in USC gear. From that point of disillusionment, I drove for more than an hour in a series of loops around the campus that included passing the Shrine Auditorium. Full. I even checked to see if either the Automobile Club building (quinceañera in progress at the cathedral across the street) or the parking lot at LA Trade Tech might be open.
Defeated, thirsty and famished, my body now craved food and drink. I decided to let the land instead of the city decide my fate and thus, resolved to head to the beach for victuals. Since I had to pass Exposition Boulevard to proceed west, I gave the original parking gate a final try. The same attendant, appearing as tired and stressed as I was, informed me that now there were spaces. With that, my day at the LA Festival of Books began. Finally. In earnest.
Having missed my first panel, I joined the flow of the crowds and walked around browsing amongst the booths until the panel Los Angeles on the Page: Memoirs & Stories was scheduled to start at 4:30.
I enjoyed this insightful panel that included David Kipen, D.J. Waldie, Zev Yaroslavky, and Jim Newton. I must admit that my first reaction when I registered the night before was to wonder why a city as diverse as Los Angeles had a panel on memoir that was made up of three White male writers and a White male moderator.
During the memoir panel, two ideas in particular resonated with me (no, I didn’t resonate with them) during this panel. The first was from Waldie who emphasized how L.A. has a hazy, uncertain history with no clear line from the past until now which makes it a city uniquely subject to mythology. It is layered in past events and traditions that include Spanish, Mexican, and US history. I will add “Native American,” especially Tongva and Chumash, to that mix.
In addition, Zev Yaroslavsky and D.J. Waldie discussed how a lack of primary sources such as letters and diaries will make it difficult for biographers and historians to find documentation and do research in the future, given our new digital lifestyles. The point here isn’t that digital creations aren’t primary sources. They are. They are just more difficult to access.
And like that, the day was done. Thanks to the writers, the readers, the institutions that made the day possible. Thanks to the city and the land.