The crowds started gathering in South Central Los Angeles before the verdicts were even handed down. People were agitated and it was easy to see trouble was coming no matter what the jury ruled.

I started lobbying the news director to go to Los Angeles. It was only an hour flight, I could be on scene live for the afternoon news. It’s hard to describe what draws news people to big stories even when there’s danger. It certainly wasn’t bravery; it wasn’t even ego, although there was plenty of that. Reporters chase stories. It’s what they do. And the more consequential the story, the bigger the thrill.  

Reporter Bernie Ward and I were dispatched to catch the earliest possible plane. We heard the verdicts on the way to SFO to catch our flight to LA. The four acquittals were bound to turn the crowds into a mob. We saw a truck driver being pulled from his truck and beaten on the television screens in the terminal as we rushed to the scene. It was going to be a long night.  

It was clear and we could see the flames from several fires as we made our approach into LAX. The pilot announced that we were being diverted from our original landing pattern because of the smoke. Bernie did a live report on sky phone as we waited to land.

Once we turned off the 10 onto Western Avenue we saw a mob surrounding a liquor store prying up the roll-down metal door with crowbars and carjacks. In the next block a car was burning on the side of the road. 

“Whatever you do,” I told Bernie, “don’t stop for any traffic lights.” 

We ducked down to keep a low profile, but it was hopeless; the van was white and all windows. The people who lived in this neighborhood would rather walk than drive a car like ours.

I was on the mobile phone live with the station describing the trail of destruction as we drove to the command post. I did my best to keep my growing apprehension from seeping into my voice. It was 7:39 pm, less than five hours after the verdicts were announced.

It was starting to get dark when we arrived at the emergency command center that was set up in a county bus yard at Arlington and 54th. Lights had been brought in and a podium was set up for news briefings. We joined the other media across the street in the parking lot of a strip mall. Once we parked, we both audibly exhaled. It sounded like we had held our breath since we had turned off the freeway.

A reporter from a rival radio station rolled up, the back window of his car shattered by a bullet. He looked at our minivan and said, “You drove THAT here?”

“This is why I never go anywhere unarmed,” a Los Angeles radio reporter interrupted.

“Let me show you.” He opened his trunk and showed us his guns—a shotgun and two pistols. He had a protective vest, extra ammo, a gas mask and an eight-inch commando knife. All we were equipped with was microphones and tape recorders.

L A’s publicity-hungry police chief Daryl Gates was strangely absent so his lieutenants and captains briefed the media. The updates were oddly clinical given what was unfolding.

“9 confirmed deaths… 138 injuries… emergency rooms overflowing… 1,556 fires overnight… smoke causing delays at LAX… one firefighter shot and wounded while on duty.”

Two police cruisers—one in front and one in back—escorted every fire truck. Police officers dressed in riot gear and armed with shotguns stood on the outside runners guarding both sides of the trucks.

“The LA Police Department is literally riding shotgun on fire trucks this morning,” I began one live report.

We stayed awake all night filing reports for KGO and the ABC network. Chief Gates showed up late in the night and held a news conference that was carried all over the country. We later learned he had spent the evening at a political fundraiser.

The officers and firefighters we talked to all seemed overwhelmed. They came to us looking for news on what was happening to other parts of the city. We could see the flames of the fires and smell the smoke. Buildings were burning to the ground because it was too dangerous for firefighters to respond; Korean storeowners were the target of systematic attacks and were defending their stores at gunpoint.

One firefighter talked about the hostility he saw from the people on the streets. “I always thought of myself as a good guy,” he said. “Tonight I was just another target.”

Across the street another firefighter, overcome by exhaustion, slept in the street in his uniform using the curb for a pillow.

The briefings became boring and the sun was coming up so we decided to see what was happening for ourselves. Several reporters, hoping there was safety in numbers, banded together to venture out into the war zone. Mary Ellen Geist from KFWB in Los Angeles led the way. The white whale and two other radio news cars fell in behind and we headed west towards a column of thick black smoke.  

As we turned onto Western at 54th, we saw huge fires burning down both sides of the block. A low-rise industrial building was billowing black smoke. The lettering in front was too scorched and blistered to read the name, but it must have been a paint store or chemical warehouse. The flames burned blue, green and orange, and popped with small explosions. The oily black smoke rolled off the building in giant funnel clouds.

We reported on the blaze and then were looking for somewhere else to go when we saw helicopters circling to the southwest. Our procession drove until we found a dozen LAPD cars parked every which way in the intersection of Manchester and Vermont. A police cruiser was shot up and abandoned in the middle of the street. The officer in charge told us the cruiser had been ambushed from both sides of the road as it drove down Manchester.