(Pandemic in Los Angeles: Day 04)
It was hardly before 7 pm when my mom heard the shot on her way home from work. She described it as something like a loud thunderclap. She is now sixty years old. The harrowing clap terrified her and forced her to turn her cart back racing the opposite way. The path along the street is one I’ve walked with her over a thousand times throughout the 18+ years that her stand’s doors have opened for the world on Santa Monica boulevard. The newsstand is a fixture, like the sign that marks the name of the boulevard itself, or the lights that guide the road. But mom’s stand is also subject to a window of time. One day, time will close its doors on the stand’s wooden frames too. The stand will also leave its place as any fixture is destined to do.
When I think back to when I first met Fernando (or Fernie), I remember the hopefulness of his greeting. There was a way that he lifted his whole chin to salute you, accentuating his cheeks and arching his eyes back as he focused them on yours while letting out an unhesitating smirk. This let you know that he was completely in the space with you as a kindred spirit. Fernie’s ability to hear you out was just as affirming. There was a way that you could express yourself with him without fearing that he’d use it against you. In a crowd of many friends–mostly teenage boys–it was difficult to find that. But Fernie was consistent. He was never out to get anyone unnecessarily. He was a loyal little brother to a pack of young men without many fathers to count among the ranks. He was there for you in any case, and was also bold on his own, which he often had to be, without flinching.
Whether you knew it or not, if you frequented Cahuenga Public Library, you were literally his neighbor. Whether you knew it or not, Fernie wore all the goodness of his neighborhood proudly on his chin. His violent loss now marks the end of an era for the community. His pack of brothers are grieving for him, praying to escape from the nightmare of a thousand memories now flowing out in his name. I salute these brothers–and also every sister and mother and father who Fernie leaves behind–and uplift Fernando “Belok” Puga’s name. Whether it’s clear or not, Fernie now walks with each of us as a giant among the stars as we continue past the boulevard on our way to a home which is still our home. A home we have to continue to claim for a community to continue surviving.
J.T.
Dear Sir, As I am sitting hear reading your story you wrote about my ever so kindhearted and handsome nephew Fernando Puga. It brings tears to my eyes.. Thinking of what a precious nephew he was.. I can’t Thank you enough for writing this story and bringing his story to the light.. He was a great man and he had a beautiful spirit and a way about him that no one can replace.. We all miss him and love him very much.. But this brought great joy to my heart to read that someone other then his family saw the quality of Fernie and thought to write about him like you did. I wanted to ask you if it would be ok to show this clip at his celebration of life ceramony in the future? Please let me know? Thank you again for being a good brother/friend and writing this story about my precious nephew.. I May God Bless you and keep you safe always.
Sincerely
KH
[…] at @thelapod, and Alissa Walker herself at @awalkerinLA. This podcast episode is also dedicated to Fernie “Belok” Puga, a legend for Madison avenue in East […]
Long live Belok! I have many great memories of him! As a young kid he was a really great skater and had unprecedented talent in many art forms. He was just as good if not better than most of us who we’re only a few years older, which back then seemed like a lifetime. Much love to everyone that knew him and his family, he will be greatly missed!